


the long way 'round

by Utlagas



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Capella, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pitch Perfect, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utlagas/pseuds/Utlagas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is just as passionate about a cappella as he is about politics; Grantaire sings the cup song to join a club he’s only interested in for it’s leader; Marius is stupidly in love with a girl from the girls’ group; and, of course, there are parties. Many, many parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addictive

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by [this post](http://tragers.tumblr.com/post/41944287590) by Tragers. There will be more couples and characters added as they are introduced, and trust me, there will be many. Rating may go up later if it fits the story, but for now it will remain with the current T rating. If you have any comments please leave them here or at my [tumblr](http://utlagas.tumblr.com). Feel free to make a song suggestion.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything about Les Mis. I don't own any songs mentioned in this fic. I don't own any pop culture reference mentioned in this fic. This fic was inspired by an au by tragers on tumblr.

A Capella is not just 'a silly past time'. It takes drive, hours of practice, precision, hard work, and above all it takes commitment. Enjolras is the physical embodiment of all of these qualities.

At first it may not seem like he would be the type to lead an a capella group. His face screams 'politics major', all business no fun. He's a no nonsense kind of person that people seem to believe wouldn't be one to take part in being part of a glee club. However, that is exactly the personality traits that make him the perfect candidate for being the Leader of the ABC's, the A-Capella Boy's Club. An unoriginal name made official when Enjolras had an exam and left Courfeyrac in charge of turning in the name they had previously decided on to the Department of Student Affairs. It was something French, Amis something. Something Amis, Jehan had come up with it so no one really knew. However, due to a clerical error, the name was lost, and they were just titled 'the A-Capella Boy's Club, which mercifully was acronymed down to the ABC's.

Though the ABC's only started with Enjolras in his first semester in Freshman year, the club had gained a following on campus. Mainly among the sorority girls who kept booking them and kept sighing dreamily when the boys performed.

Enjolras didn't mind so long as they got paid.

Yes, despite contrary belief the ABC's were a very popular group on campus, probably for the reasons that it was filled with many good looking men who could sing.

There was the fearless leader, Enjolras the Politics/History major, with short golden hair that was always styled so immaculately and a voice gifted to him by Angels. He sang songs of revolution, of changing things, of strength, songs of the people. Off stage he was hardly ever seen without his fire engine red blazer and a debate ready to be had with just about anyone. Enjolras was a passionate individual, yet no one had ever seen him be passionate with any other individual. Rumors milled about that he was only in love with his lady Euterpe, and then a few of the girls on campus started a small witch hunt trying to find this Euterpe chick. If they only knew that Euterpe was the Muse of Music.

Courfeyrac was known as the Irish Sweetheart. With a head full of barely tamed dark curls and the ability to charm his way into the heart of anyone he set his mind to, Courfeyrac was a force to be reckoned with. As a Theatre major, he spent much of his time rehearsing for some role he managed to land, but spent the rest of his time splitting between flirting with just about everyone and singing with the ABC's. Courfeyrac is mischievous and fun, he is light and happiness, he is amusement that is always looking to be amused. It is not entirely proven that it was only a clerical error that gave the boys their rather unoriginal name, but nothing was proven that it wasn't so Enjolras did not kill the joyful man.

Combeferre is like Enjolras in ways, only that he is muted and Enjolras shines. If Enjolras was the president, then Combeferre was the vice president. He made sure everything ran smoothly when everyone tried to split Enjolras' hair, he took care of the boys. Combeferre is kind, and shy, he is a philosophy and English major, and he is very protective of those that he loves. Combeferre cares deeply for his friends, even when they drive him mad. Combeferre looked like someone who could take care of you, his slightly over long hair and his thin framed glasses paired with a soft smile. He had a nurturing air that made you want to confess to him, to have him forgive you.

Jehan is the support system for the ABC's. Dual majoring in both English and Music, he's a very artistic individual who is very in touch with himself. Jehan is a free spirit, a delicate soul with a voice that has the widest range anyone on campus that anyone has ever seen. Jehan is very shy though, and prefers to sing in a medium range even though he can achieve very high notes. Not much is really known about Jehan, just that he is very small, very shy, and very adorable. He writes poetry on just about every flat surface he can find, the club room walls have been painted over multiple times because of it. Jehan brings creativity to the group, a breath of fresh air among tired old songs that get used over and over again. Jehan often changed his appearance, but not by much. He had a collection of paints in his dorm that he used to paint the tips of his hair. The color his hair was usually gave some hint as to what Jehan was feeling that day. Really the only thing that changed was the color of Jehan's golden hair, it was always long, always softly curled, sometimes braided. He wore sweaters nearly everyday and had a collection of ribbons he liked to adorn himself with. When Spring came along he almost always had flowers in his hair, causing Joly to go into a self-induced sneezing fit claiming allergies and death pollen.

Joly rounded of the group by maintaining their spirits. Joly was almost as happy as his name was often mispronounced (it would be his luck that out of all of his friends, his would be mispronounced the most). As a hopeful future Doctor, Joly knew a lot about diseases and because he knew about all of these diseases, he always believed that he was contracting one. It was a great thing to be a hypochondriac in college. However, despite all the panic about contracting any diseases, Joly was almost always happy. Usually because Joly was always in love. That is to be explained later though. Joly looked slightly out of place when surrounded by the likes of Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Jehan, who all looked as if they had been touched by angels while he and Combeferre usually felt average at best. Joly wasn't too concerned about his appearance, as long as his hair was neat and his nails were neatly trimmed he did not mind. He was usually worrying about how it would be his luck if he got vocal nodules and would probably need surgery.

The ABC's used to have more members, but it is now the Junior year for these five talented men, and those who were with them at the start had now graduated. To make the quota for this years team for competitions, the ABC's were now holding auditions.

Or they were trying to. Instilling excitement about singing for a men's only a capella group wasn't as easy as the movies made it out to be.

“Courf have you talked to your roommate? He's an alright singer isn't he?” Combeferre asked without looking up from his book. Courfeyrac, on the stage with his hoodie beneath his head, shrugged.

“I guess, in like a really pretentious way,” he said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Combeferre asked, pausing his book to look at his friend. 

“You know how opera music sounds like it's coming from the throat instead of the stomach and it kind of just throws the whole thing off?”

“Yeah...”

“That's what Marius sounds like.”

“So you're saying he can hold a note?”

“.... Yeah, fine, I'll get him to come to auditions. I'll tell him about all the pretty girls we attract,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh. Courfeyrac's roommate was in love with the prospect of love, and sought it with nearly every girl he met. So far he had been unlucky in love, but was always searching.

The duo were currently sitting in the empty auditorium reserved for the A Capella groups, waiting for Enjolras and Jehan to come back from recruiting so they could have a turn outside handing out fliers. Joly was in class for most of the day, as Tuesdays were his busy days. The two had been stationed here because Enjolras felt that some people who knew about the club might want to try and join, and would search for them in the auditorium. Combeferre didn't know why they wouldn't just come to the club room in Hollis, but Enjolras claimed that the auditorium was easier to find.

“You heard Eponine and Musichetta are doing auditions too?”

“You mean they're continuing that train wreck they had last year?” Courfeyrac asked with obvious surprise. The only other school group were the girls group with the French name, a rip off of the ABC's original idea with the different language. They had just started up last year, and the competition had been brutal. The girls didn't even make it past the first round.

“Most of the girls quit or graduated. It's just Chetta, 'Ponine, and one of the other girls left,” Combeferre said.

“And what little bird told you this?” Courfeyrac had a mischievous gleam in his eye, he knew his answer before Combeferre could look up from his book.

“Hush, Don't you have some play to rehearse?” Combeferre asked.

“Not till tonight. Tuesdays are my free days,” Courfeyrac said with a wide grin.

“Just go ahead and text Marius, you twit.”

The pair stayed in the auditorium for about thirty more minutes until someone actually came in.

“Hello?” a voice echoed through the auditorium. Courfeyrac jerked up at the sound, imagining it to be a ghost for a moment before looking towards the door of the auditorium.

“'Ferre,” Courfeyrac said, gaining his friends attention. Combeferre ripped his attention from the book he was reading to give it to the Irish man on stage.

“What?” he asked. Courfeyrac nodded to the back entrance where a very muscular man with dark orangey hair was standing.

“Someone's here,” he said. Combeferre turned in his seat to lock eyes onto the man who was currently walking down the aisle towards them.

“Bahorel?” Combeferre asked as he recognized the man. Bahorel, for the past two years, had been on the school's boxing team until he got into a bar fight that put someone in the hospital. The school nearly expelled him but allowed him back if he did community service for an entire semester and then joined a non athletic club, as he was now banned from them. It was a surprise that he chose the ABC's as that club.

Bahorel grinned at the bespectacled man, as he drew nearer. If it weren't for the muscles, Combeferre would hardly believe that this was the guy who had sent a guy to the hospital.

“Hey Combeferre.” he said. “Is this where I sign up to audition?”

“Hang on, aren't you that fighter guy?” Courfeyrac asked as he slid his body to the edge of the stage. Bahorel grinned shyly.

“Not anymore. School made me give it up,” he said honestly.

“Sucks. So you thinking of joinin' the ABC's?” Courfeyrac asked. He leaned back on his hands, swinging his legs back and forth, knocking against the wooden surrounding of the stage with his socked feet, creating slow dull thumps that echoed around the auditorium.

“Hopefully,” Bahorel said.

“Okay, great! Uh hold on, there's a stack of flyers around here somewhere, I'll get you one,” Combeferre said, setting his book on the chair beside him.

“Backstage somewhere, Enjolras set them down somewhere,” Courfeyrac offered as his friend stood. Combeferre headed back towards the stairs that led to the backstage. Once he was gone, Bahorel and Courfeyrac looked at each other before one of them spoke.

“So when are auditions?” Bahorel asked.

“Saturday, two o'clock. Enjolras wanted nine am, but Eponine nearly kicked his arse for bein' ridiculous,” Courfeyrac said with a laugh. Bahorel grinned as well.

“That's good, I don't think I'd be able to make it if it were at nine. I work in the early mornings on Saturdays,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Where you workin'?”

“School post office. I'm Bahorel by the way, Bahorel Lewis,” he said.

“Killian Courfeyrac,” Courfeyrac offered, holding out his hand. Bahorel raised his eyebrows at the name, but came forward to shake his hand.

“Christ, that's a mouthful,” Bahorel said after squeezing hands.

“You're tellin' me. 'Ferre did you find the fliers?” Courfeyrac called back to his friend. Combeferre walked onto the stage looking somewhat exasperated.

“Did we let Jehan reorganize again? I swear to god it's a madhouse back there,” he said as he approached the edge of the stage. He squatted down beside Courfeyrac, looking at Bahorel.

“So no fliers?” Courfeyrac asked.

“None, sorry Bahorel. Auditions are on Saturday though, in here, two o'clock. You don't have to prepare a song, we'll give you one to sing,” Combeferre said giving the rundown of information that the flier had printed on it.

“What if I don't know the song?” Bahorel asked.

“What do you know how to sing?”

“Ke$ha.” Courfeyrac and Combeferre stared at him for a moment before a grin spread across Courfeyrac's face.

“I like you. 'Ferre we have to keep him, please!”

“If he can sing then yes, Courf, we can keep him,” Combeferre said with a roll of his eyes. He looked back at Bahorel more kindly.

“Don't worry, we'll make sure Enjolras picks out a Ke$ha song for you,” he told the ginger. Bahorel grinned widely.

“Thanks, listen I got to go, I've got a class in ten minutes, I just needed to stop by and get some information,” he said, walking backwards at the same time.

“Sure thing. See you on Saturday, Bahorel!” Courfeyrac said with a wave. Bahorel turned and jogged back out of the auditorium, leaving Courfeyrac and Combeferre alone together once more.

“Well I call this day a success,” Combeferre said as he hopped off the stage. He took his place back in his chair, picking up his book right where he left off.

“I wonder how Enjolras and Jehan are fairing outside,” Courfeyrac said. He fell back onto the stage to lay down again, but thunked his head against the stage floor because he had forgotten to bring his hoodie with him.

It was just after one out on the quad, meaning that the students were either in class or in the cafeteria trying to eat something quickly before they had to be at their next class. There were very few students out on the quad, and one of these students happened to be a new transfer student by the name of Grantaire.

Grantaire had just transferred in to Leopold University this semester from a college somewhere in the deep south, he was an art major rooming with Jehan and was currently on his way to the art building to develop photos from the previous week. Or, he was until he saw some jerk knock into his roommate out in the middle of the quad when the poet had tried to give him a flier. Grantaire snapped a picture of the incident before rushing over to his roommate.

“Jehan, you okay?” he asked the feminine man. Jehan nodded, accepting the arm that Grantaire offered to help him up.

“I'm fine, thanks, R,” Jehan said in a small tone. He reordered the fliers in his arm, and didn't notice the few that had fallen onto the ground. Grantaire kneeled to pick them up for him.

“Here, you need to be more careful Jehan. Jerks like that will walk all over you if you let them,” Grantaire said. He kept one of the fliers for himself, reading it while Jehan placed the others back in the stack.

“'Join the ABC...'” he read softly. He looked up at Jehan. “Prouvaire, what's the ABC? Is this a poetry thing?”

“No, it's an A Capella group. ABC stands for A-Capella Boy's Club,” Jehan explained.

“That has to be the stupidest name I've ever heard,” Grantaire said honestly. Jehan nods down at the camera in Grantaire's hands.

“What's with the camera? Are you drunk again?” he asked.

“Reasonably, but not enough to need the camera. My professor assigned a project where we have to take a picture of a person, any person, and then sketch it realistically and paint it abstractly,” Grantaire listed off. He was just going around taking pictures today, and would develop his favorites among the photos tomorrow after uploading them onto his laptop. He was doing that very thing right now with his pictures from late night drinking from the past week.

“Cool, when's it due?”

“Friday is when the final product has to be turned in.”

“So you're painting Thursday?”

“You know me so well, Prouvaire,” Grantaire said with a grin.

“Jehan!” a voice called from across the quad. Both Jehan and Grantaire looked up at the sound, but what Grantaire saw was vastly different from the view Jehan had. Jehan saw his friend, the intense and focused Enjolras wearing his normal red blazer. What Grantaire saw though, that's a whole other experience.

Grantaire saw an angel, a Greek god come down from Olympus. Hair gilded by the sun and skin as flawless as porcelain, this was Apollo with the sun trailing after him to gift him with an ethereal glow. Grantaire lifted his camera automatically and snapped a picture or five of this Apollo.

Enjolras faltered a step when Grantaire started taking pictures, but kept moving towards the blonde and fuchsia haired English major.

“Finish putting up all the fliers?” Jehan asked when Enjolras approached. He nodded and looked at Grantaire, who was still staring at him with these really large and intense blue eyes. They were somewhat unsettling to be that blue.

“You interested in singing?” Enjolras asked him.

“I'm more interested in finding out your name,” Grantaire said without thinking. Once he did realize what he said, Grantaire smirked at the blonde. Enjolras stared at Grantaire with an even expression.

“Enjolras,” he said, putting forth a hand for Grantaire to shake. Grantaire's eyebrows flew up, near reaching his hairline. He surely misheard the man, surely Grantaire must be more drunk than he realized. Grantaire placed his hand in Enjolras' shaking it slightly in his dazed state.

“I must have misheard you, what did you say your name was?” Grantaire asked.

“Enjolras,” the blonde stated again. This time he said it slower, making sure that Grantaire understood.

“Gotcha, gotcha, Enjolras. I could have sworn at first that you said your name was Angel. It's a fitting name though,” Grantaire said with a wicked grin. He held onto Enjolras' hand until the blonde noticed and pulled away. Grantaire dropped his hand back to his Camera. It felt so much warmer when it had been touching palms with this golden haired Apollo. His fingers rubbed over the edge of his camera, itching to take more pictures of this ethereal being.

“Grantaire is my roommate this semester. He's an art major,” Jehan supplied for Enjolras.

“Fantastic.” Grantaire didn't miss the sarcastic edge in the Angel's voice. “Did you talk to anyone about auditions?”

“Three boys came up to hit on me, only two seemed interested about auditions after they found out I told them I was a boy,” Jehan said with a frown.

“That's great, Jehan. Combeferre texted me, Courfeyrac is going to get his roommate to audition and someone else came by the auditorium to find out information,” Enjolras said. Grantaire stared at Enjolras. So he was the leader of an A Capella group. Of course he would be the leader, he looked like a leader, and apparently he could sing.

“Prouvaire, I'm heading to the Dark Rooms, I'll see you tonight yeah?” Grantaire said pulling away. He needed to get away, away from this Angel who was about to blind him with beauty.

“Make sure you eat, yeah?” Jehan said seriously. Grantaire laughed and waved his roommate off, walking towards the art building.

“Come on Jehan, let's head back to the Auditorium. We'll talk with Courf and Ferre for a few minutes before sending them out here,” Enjolras said, placing a hand on the smaller man's sweater clad shoulder. Jehan smiled at his friend.

“Grantaire is a remarkable singer, he sings along to his ipod while he's working. And while in the shower. And drinking. He's really good at it,” Jehan said none too subtly as they walked back to the auditorium. Enjolras looked as if he were paying attention to the walk ahead of him, but as they passed the art building that Grantaire had so recently entered, his eyes strayed a bit to the ornate archway over the entrance of the building.

“I don't think he would be very serious about it Jehan,” Enjolras said, more as a musing than a statement.

“He just needs to be properly motivated. You should hear him sing, and he's good with harmonies. He sings with Combeferre in the shower,” Jehan said. Enjolras looked at his companion.

“How do you know that?”

“I know both their voices, and you and Combeferre live on the same hallway as us. Sometimes Grantaire is awake or lucid enough for a shower at the same time as Combeferre,” Jehan says rationally. Enjolras rolls his eyes at the explanation.

“Yes, that explains everything. He just joins in with whoever is in the shower,” he said. Jehan shook his head, disagreeing.

“No, not everyone. Just Combeferre. He's the only one brave enough to sing in the shower aside from you, and you take your showers really early, too early for R to be awake.” Enjolras faltered for a half step, confused as to who 'R' was, before assuming that was what Grantaire's first name started with. Or last name.

“You would look really good if you let me put some red in your hair,” Jehan mused, changing the subject. Enjolras smiled.

“Not on your life, Prouvaire.”

By the time Enjolras and Jehan had reached the auditorium, the fairer of the two blondes was reciting a haiku about Enjolras' ass. Courfeyrac was still laying on the stage, but his phone was held in the air over his face as he texted someone who would probably end up in his bed tonight. Courfeyrac had finished his book, and was also texting on his phone from the chair in the front row that Enjolras had left him in a couple of hours ago.

“Anything exciting happen?” Enjolras asked, interrupting Jehan in the middle of a verse that was talking about how perky his ass was.

“Bahorel Lewis is coming to auditions,” Combeferre supplied, not looking up from his phone. Enjolras dropped into the chair next to his roommate, relaxing in it as Jehan sat against the stage.

“Bahorel... isn't he the-”

“Fighter? Yeah. He needs a non athletic club to stay in school. He chose us.”

“Choose a Ke$ha song for him, please,” Courfeyrac piped up from the stage.

“I hate Ke$ha,” Enjolras stated.

“But he can sing it, he says he's comfortable singing it. Come on, Jol, please?” Courfeyrac said, rolling onto his stomach to look at his team leader. Enjolras pursed his lips at the nickname.

“If you never call me that again, then fine,” he told the curly haired man. Courfeyrac frowned at first then sighed, collapsing slightly on the stage.

“A reasonable sacrifice,” he groaned.

“Combeferre, please convince Enjolras that Grantaire would be a good addition to the ABC's,” Jehan said as he bends his body over a notebook pulled from his satchel where he works at getting out another poem. Hopefully this one was not about Enjolras' ass. (It was.)

Combeferre looks down at Jehan and then over to Enjolras beside him.

“Grantaire is your roommate right? The alcoholic?” Enjolras huffs at that. Of course he was an alcoholic, it only made sense. Maybe he wasn't even an alcoholic, maybe it was just an exaggeration on Combeferre's part.

“Yeah.” Not an exaggeration then. Enjolras didn't know why the art major's drinking habits bothered him, they just did.

“Is he the one that sings with me in the showers?”

“Yeah.”

“He would make an excellent addition, Enjolras,” Combeferre states, looking at Enjolras as he shrugs. It's a pure 'what can you do' expression, and Enjolras kind of hates his roommate for it. 

“You literally just said that he was an alcoholic,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Only some of the time-”

“Most of the time,” Jehan interjects.

“Do you want him here Jean?” Combeferre sighed.

“Of course, I think it will help him.”

“Help him?” Asked Enjolras curiously.

“He needs some sort of purpose, all he really has is his art and drink. He loves music, Enjy, he proper loves it. He just doesn't want to,” Jehan passionately fought for his roommate. He's pulled away from his notebook to look at Enjolras. His hazel eyes were so bright, and so sad looking. Jehan loved his roommate, he honestly did. This was the first roommate he had that didn't find him weird for dressing the way he did or acting the way he did. He just simply called it cool and sometimes helped Jehan paint his hair if he was trying for more than one color.

“And you think him being in the ABC's is going to help him,” Enjolras asked. Jehan nodded.

“Will you let him in?”

“If you get him to audition, I'll think about it,” Enjolras told him. That was a lie though, he didn't want Grantaire in his group, and even if he was as good as both Jehan and Combeferre claimed, he wouldn't risk polluting the club with someone who seemed so toxic.

Jehan knew that though, Jehan knew everything. However, what Jehan knew that Enjolras didn't know was that the leader was going to allow Grantaire into the group. He just needed to make sure that Grantaire was ready.

Jehan didn't talk to Grantaire about auditions that night, Grantaire had been in the art building until past midnight working on some project he didn't talk about. He didn't really even get a chance to properly speak to his roommate until Friday, and even then his plan had already worked itself out for the most part.

Jehan's plan was simple, he needed to drag Grantaire out of bed and get him to take a shower at the same time as Enjolras. If his fearless leader could just hear Grantaire sing, he would have no reservations about reserving him a place in the ABC's.

However, Jehan's plan was not needed, and Enjolras got to hear Grantaire singing quite on accident.

Grantaire had been in the art building all week, working on various projects. In the short time that his professors had known him, they had never seen him look so... passionate about a project. He got his school appointed project done in record time, and then worked on a similar project completely on his own. Grantaire had spent hours in the art studio, having only left to go pass out on his bed for a few hours until he had to get to class. He didn't even drink as much as he usually did because he was so wrapped up in this current project. He did, however, smoke three times his usual amount, which was something that would concern most people.

It was around dawn on Friday that Grantaire finished the project he had so ardently worked on. His face and arms were smudged with yellow and white paints, streaks in his hair clumping together matted down curls. He looked and smelled like he had spent the past three days in a studio, and since the artist was sober for once, he knew what he smelled like. He would forgo sleeping for a few more hours, lasting out his morning classes before skiving the afternoon ones, and he would shower.

As it was early, it started out with it just being Grantaire in the shower. That was fine, he would have started singing no matter what, but at least this time he would get to choose his song.

Enjolras started every day the same. All of his classes were in the morning, so he was always up with the sun to get ready. At six o'clock he trudged his way down the hall, barely even registering that the showers were already on and that someone was singing. One reason he liked being up so early was because it always took him a while to become completely awake, and he had a reputation to uphold as to always be prompt and focused.

By the time Enjolras' brain caught up with his body, he was already in the shower, singing along to a song someone else was singing. 'Amy Winehouse' his brain supplied as he faltered singing. The voice carried on without him, singing without him as if he had never joined. This voice was... it was good- no, more than good. It was... addictive. He tried to think of some other adjective for the voice currently crooning, but addicting seemed to fit perfectly.

The voice finished singing and there was a pause where the only sound came from the shower heads, before the singing started up again. He recognized the song again, but just barely. It was from Jehan's music choices, some hipster shit that was actually pretty good. Whoever was singing was very good at switching pitches for the different people singing. Enjolras stood there, soaking in the sound of this man's voice as if it were the water pouring over him.

A few minutes later, another person entered the bathroom.

“Grantaire?” Jehan's voice called. The singing stopped, and and Enjolras froze.

“Hey J,” Grantaire's voice sounded. It was partially cut off by a yawn, and Enjolras dared not move.

“Where've you been? I haven't seen you in two days,” Jehan asked sounding very much like a kicked puppy. Grantaire's laugh echoed around the bathroom, and the faucets from his stall squeaked off.

“Sorry, I was working on a project,” he explained.

“That photography one?”

“Finished that one ages ago, this one was... personal.”

“Have you eaten? Or slept?”

“I haven't been drinking as much,” Grantaire supplied, avoiding the question. Enjolras nearly flinched. So he was capable of going without alcohol if he wanted to.

“R.”

“I've slept a few hours here or there, eaten what other art majors have shared in the studio.”

“So not much.”

“No.”

“Go back to the room and get into bed. I'll make you some tea and then you can go to sleep.”

“Can't, class.”

“Skip for today. Is the first one the one with the project?” Jehan asked.

“Yeah.”

“I'll turn it in for you and explain that you're too sick to get a sick pass from the nurse.”

“Jehan, you're a good wife,” Grantaire said with a grin in his voice.

“A better one than you deserve. You never take me out anymore,” Jehan said, playing along.

“I'm sorry Jeanie! I'll tell you what, next pay check I'll take you out for a beautiful dinner, a night of real romance!”

“You wouldn't know romance if it bit you on the ass. Now go put on your boxers and get into bed,” Jean said. The sound of wet feet slapping against tile echoed through the bathroom and Enjolras grimaced. Joly would have a field day if he knew that there were people walking around the public bathrooms without shoes.

It was quiet for a minute until Jehan called out to him.

“I told you. He'll be at auditions tomorrow,” Jehan said, and Enjolras was left alone in the bathroom.

By the time Jehan got back to their room, Grantaire was already in bed, asleep. There were still traces of red paint in his hair, and a smudge of yellow that almost looked like a bruise on his jaw. Jehan sighed and pulled Grantaire's comforter over his body, draping it over the bare shoulder of his friend. Tea could wait a while.

Jehan looked around Grantaire's side of the room, looking for the new project that was due. There was a new pile of photos on his desk, so he looked there first.

Jehan paused as he looked through the images, looking over at the sleeping form of his roommate. He smiled and sifted through them more, finding one that was different that the others. Well, there were two that weren't like the others. He lifted out two copies of the same picture, and placed them on his desk. He frowned at the images, but did not disturb his slumbering roommate. He just went into Grantaire's closet where he kept his art supplies. Most of Grantaire's clothing were still in the boxes he had brought them in under the bed. Jehan shifted through the canvases to look at them, pulling the one he was looking for out of the pile.

Jehan's lips formed an 'O' as he studied the image. Grantaire had painted him, him and the jerk from yesterday who knocked him down. Grantaire had painted Jehan as a wild array of colors, soft and bright colors that were like a burst of light that was being oppressed by the dark shades of black and gray. The brighter colors were still stronger though, but had been touched with the darkness, leaving him unpure like the rest of them.

Jehan set the painting down on his bed shakily. He wanted to cry, he wanted to crawl into bed with Grantaire and hold him, be held by him. Grantaire was the best roommate he had ever had, and he so hoped he would be able to keep him.

Hours later, as Jehan was coming back from his last class of the day, Grantaire woke up to his roommate unlocking the door.

“Prouvaire?” Grantaire asked sleepily. His voice was marred from sleep, low and scratchy.

“Hey, R. Sleep well?” Jehan asked as he dropped his backpack on his bed. Grantaire sat up in bed, his blanket wrapped around his legs and hips while his hair stood up in wild disarray.

“What time is it?” he asked, not really looking at Jehan.

“Just after two, you've been asleep for near seven hours.” At this, Grantaire groaned and fell back on his bed. He felt like he had been asleep for maybe an hour at most.

“Did you turn in my project?” he asked, slightly muffled through his pillow.

“Yeah. I liked it, by the way. It was beautiful, and sad,” Jehan said, sitting at the edge of his bed. He was staring at the half covered figure of Grantaire. His bed was by the window, and the mid afternoon sun was shining through it. Instead of casting light over Grantaire though, it seemed to just outline, leaving the rest of him dark and cold.

“Just like you, Prouvaire,” Grantaire said. Jehan shook at the statement. He wasn't sure if any of his other friends knew Jehan as well as Grantaire seemed to know. Maybe it was just the artist in Grantaire, able to see people more clearly than others. He had seen the other images, the red and gold angels and Apollos in the closet. It would take an idiot to not see who those were about.

“Grantaire,” Jehan said, gaining the darker haired man's attention.

“Yeah, Jehan?”

“Do you want to audition for the ABC's?” Across the room, Grantaire's blue eyes opened, staring at his roommate with confusion and apprehension.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“You're a good singer.”

“I don't like singing.”

“You sing all the time.”

“I don't like singing for other people.”

“It wouldn't be for other people though, it would be for you. It would just happen to take place with other people and in front of other people,” Jehan said. Grantaire lifted his head to stare at Jehan with a more apprehensive face.

“You're not really selling it for me J,” he said. Jehan sighed.

“Fine, I told Enjolras that you would audition and that he would let you in the ABC's.”

“But I don't want to be on the ABC's.”

“Don't you though?”

“No.”

“What about Enjolras?” Grantaire froze slightly, face even.

“What about him?” he asked. Jehan grinned.

“I saw the pictures, and the paintings, R,” Jehan told him mischievously.

“So? I was inspired,” Grantaire denied. Jehan shook his head.

“Enjolras doesn't want you in the group,” Jehan informed. Grantaire frowned.

“So?”

“He'd let you in though, because he knows how well you can sing.” Grantaire frowned even more.

“He doesn't like me, but he would let me join because I can sing?”

“He's very dedicated to the ABC's.”

“Fascinating.”

“You'd really piss him off by actually auditioning.” Grantaire's eyebrows rose with interest.

“Really?” The Angel come down from high, getting flustered because of Grantaire? He would have to see it to believe it.

“When are auditions?” Grantaire asked. Jehan grinned at his victory.

“Tomorrow at two, in the A Capella Auditorium.”

“There's an auditorium just for a capella?”


	2. no good deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> auditioning for a capella is an experience in and of itself. there were those who believed they could sing, and there were those who could actually sing. this chapter is otherwise titled 'the trials and troubles of being enjolras'.
> 
> note, any songs you may recognize do not belong to me. i do not own the rights to 'die young' by ke$ha, time after time by cyndi lauper, 'we found love' by rihanna, 'you know i'm no good' by amy winehouse, 'mountain sound' by of monsters and men, 'down in the river to pray' by alison krauss, 'cups (you're gonna miss me)' by lulu and the lampshades or pitch perfect. nor do i own monty python or o brother where art thou.

Auditions for the on campus A Capella groups were an affair of sorts. Those who liked to laugh attended, those who were scouting new people for musicals attended, and those who had a sincere interest attended. Although the lattermost of these seemed to be the most rare amongst them, surprisingly, but everyone pretended to be one so that they could stay.

Both the ABC's and the Les Filles de la Chorale shared the allotted time space, sitting several seats away from each other. Or, they were supposed to. Joly had crept over to the girls side to sit with Musichetta without Enjolras yelling at him for fraternizing. A group of people who actually were auditioning were seated in the center a few rows behind the two groups. Well, it would be unfair to call them groups right now. There were only three in girls' group, and five in the boys'.

Jehan sat on the right of Courfeyrac, looking at the group of auditioning students with a frown on his face.

“Something wrong, Jehan?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Your roommate not show up?” Enjolras said lowly. Jehan snapped his head to look at the other blonde.

“He'll be here, he promised,” Jehan said adamantly. Enjolras rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Ever since he had heard Grantaire's voice in the shower, it had been hard to get it out of his head. It echoed in his head as it had against the cheap tile of the showers. He really hoped that the dark haired man didn't show up.

Combeferre stood up on staged with a clipboard in hand.

“Alright now I've got a list of everyone who's auditioning today. If your name isn't on this list and you aren't already on either of the teams, get the hell out,” Combeferre said, eyes scanning the crowd. A few cowards stood up to leave, but others were not swayed.

“Hey, 'Ponine!” Courfeyrac called over to the tiny gathering of girls. The girl in question was seated in the middle, reading a book and not paying attention to the room around her. She was dressed for comfort, having woken up just two hours ago, in her university sweatpants and a tank top that probably belonged to either Courfeyrac or Combeferre. Her long dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail off her neck. Courfeyrac had to call her name again to get her attention.

“What?” she asked, traces of a Brooklyn accent colored her tone.

“You coming round to mine tonight?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Who all's going to be there?”

“ABC's, you girls, my theatre people. Marius will be there,” he said.

“He lives with you, you odd creature,” Eponine sneered with a grin.

“Wait, what's happening tonight?” Marius asked from his seat three rows back.

“Party at ours tonight, love,” Courfeyrac said with a charming grin to his roommate.

“I mean it, get the hell out of here before I call campus security,” Combeferre threatened over the conversation. The eyes of the hecklers widened at the mention of campus security. If they were called, then the ruthless and stubborn head of security, Javert, would get them all in trouble. A large chunk of the spectators left, fearing the wrath of Javert, who would never let it go that they were a bunch of no good miscreants. He still hounded Professor Valjean for accidentally stealing a cupcake from the campus cafe. The Religious Studies professor paid off the balance, but the chief of security still managed to make his way to wherever the professor turned up.

“Hey can I invited someone?” Marius asked.

“No,” Eponine joked, grinning at the boy.

“It's not that girl you keep raving about is she? You haven't even spoken to her, you just gawk after her from across the quad,” Courfeyrac whined throwing his head over the back of the seat.

“What girl?” Eponine turned in her seat. “There's a girl?”

“Oh please don't get him started,” Courfeyrec groaned, throwing an exasperated look towards Eponine.

“Oh she's wonderful Ep, an absolute angel,” Marius said, missing the slightly broken expression on his friend's face.

“What's her name?” she asked.

“That's the thing, he doesn't bloody know,” Courfeyrac said before Marius could even open his mouth. “He literally ran into her out on the quad, falling at her feet like the idiot he is and not saying a word except for some garbled nonsense that may have been an apology! She had to get to class and she ran off with an apology to making him fall.” Eponine faced the dark haired man again.

“How do you know?”

“Because he hasn't stopped talking about her since Thursday!” Courfeyrac moaned.

“So how are you going to invite her?” Eponine asked as she turned back to Marius. Marius seemed at a lost, opening and then closing his mouth like a gaping fish.

Combeferre sighed heavily at the remaining half dozen students who stubbornly stayed.

“Fine, if you want to stay, give me your names. You're auditioning,” he said. That was what terrified the remaining watchers, well most of them. Five of them hurried out the door complaining under their breath. As the last one left, the door swung open again and Grantaire strolled in. He didn't go sit with the others, but instead sat in the back row next to the remaining stubborn heckler. Combeferre arched an eyebrow at the pair and then looked at the others.

“Now that we're all settled, I'll explain how things are going to go down. As last year's National champions, the ABC's are going to call each of you up. On stage you're going to say your name, major, and what kind of music you like. Based on your answers we'll pick out a song for you to sing that you should know all of the words to. If you don't know all the words, tell us and we'll choose another song,” Combeferre explained.

“How will we know if we made it?” Bahorel asked.

“When you signed in you put your contact information down, we'll be in contact to tell you if you made it or not. We will contact you, so just wait. Don't bother us if you don't hear from us, we will be in contact,” Combeferre stressed. In previous years, people had called about five times to ask whether or not they had made it. Needless to say, Enjolras just made a rule that anyone who called was turned down.

“What if we don't have cell phones?” Grantaire called from the back. Jehan turned to look at him, frowning, but saw the scrawny freshman beside Grantaire and faced front again. Enjolras clenched his teeth together, finding his interruption infuriating. Who didn't have a phone these days?

“We'll send you an email to your school account,” Combeferre answered. “Now, let's get started.”

Combeferre hopped off the stage and took his seat next to Enjolras, handing him the clipboard.

“Right, okay, first up is Bahorel Lewis,” Enjolras read out.

Bahorel, with his hulking figure, climbed over the seats to get to the front. A girl who was sitting in front of him squeaked and leaned far away when Bahorel's foot came down on her arm rest. Courfeyrac started laughing at the sight, especially so when Bahorel stepped between him and Enjolras and climbed up on the table to reach the stage.

“Shut up, Courf,” Enjolras said. He cleared his throat and looked up at Bahorel, who was grinning on stage, proud of his stunt.

“What's your name?” Enjolras asked.

“Bahorel Lewis, I'm a communications major, former boxer. I listen to a lot of top 40, catchy stuff,” Bahorel said. He rocked back and forth on his feet, grinning madly at the audience. Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Do you know all the words to... Joly, what's a Ke$ha song?” Enjolras asked craning his head to look for his friend. He ended up having to turn in his seat to try and find the med student.

“Joly!” he yelled. The student in question leaped in his seat next to Musichetta, who laughed. Enjolras motioned for Joly to return to where the ABC's were sitting. When Joly finally rejoined them, a blush was heavy in his cheeks. He mumbled out an apology.

“What's a Ke$ha song that Bahorel can sing?” Enjolras asked. Joly gave Enjolras a look of pure astonished disbelief. He knew how much Enjolras hated the top forty, artists like Ke$ha especially.

“Sing _'Die Young'_ , the deconstructed version,” Joly called, looking away from the blonde and up to the stage. Bahorel pauses for a moment, a slight constipated look on his face.

“The acoustic version!” a girl calls from the groups of potentials. Bahorel's grin returned to his face, and he winked roguishly at the girl, who giggled.

“Thanks sweetheart! Alright then, here I go,” he said. 

There were many different expectations about what kind of singing voice a large hulking guy like Bahorel. Most of them were expecting him to be off pitch, flat, unable to keep a tone. Well, Bahorel blew their expectations out of the water as soon as he started singing.

Bahorel's voice startled even Enjolras, it was rich and deep, but able to reach higher notes in parts of the song. Though not openly gaping, near everyone's jaw had loosened a bit as the song continued. It sounded sad, this version of the song.

Once Bahorel finished, no one moved apart from Grantaire in the back who held up a sketchpad with a large 9.6 on it. Bahorel flashed him a grin, and looked down at Enjolras.

“Can I get down now?” he asked. Enjolras, as well as the four men around him, stared at Bahorel in mild shock. They had not expected such a voice from someone who looked like he could severely injure a person. Enjolras shook himself out of his stupor, metaphorically. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, thank you. Please retake your seat,” he rambled a bit. Courfeyrac leaned forward in his seat to grin at Combeferre. Bahorel's grin got impossibly wider, and he jumped down from the stage, landing right in front of the table set up in front of the boy's.

“Thanks,” he said before walking around to the aisle. He didn't take his previous seat, instead he traveled back to sit with Grantaire and the Freshman. He and Grantaire bumped fists when he sat down.

“Next up is Azelma Jondrette-”

The sound of a book falling onto the ground startled everyone, bringing their attention to a very shocked Eponine.

“What?” she asked, staring at Enjolras. A girl stood up from the crowd nervously, drawing everyone's attention to her as she walked up to the stage. She looked so similar, long dark brown hair that waved down her back, dark eyes that were always held downcast, even the way she held herself was familiar, like she didn't want to be seen. She looked just like Eponine, were Eponine not as confident as she were. This was Eponine when she was scared.

“Ep...” Enjolras said slowly, looking to the singer. The girl in question had her eyes pinned to Azelma, her mouth set in a thin and furious line.

When Azelma finally got on stage, she looked to Eponine first.

“Hey Eponine,” she said, her voice barely carrying. Eponine's mouth thinned impossibly more, saying nothing.

“Please introduce yourself,” Enjolras said loudly, bringing business back to attention. Azelma turned back to the front, her eyes glued on the floor in front of her.

“My name is Azelma Jondrette, I'm a freshman working on my gen-ed requirements. No major yet. I listen to a lot of ballads,” she said smally. Enjolras had to crane his head to hear the girl, and even then it was just barely. He looked to Eponine.

“What do you think, Ep?” he asked.

“Sing _'Time after Time'_ ,” she said. Her eyes were hard, fury burned in them as well as sadness. Jehan leaned over his armrest to whisper in Courfeyrac's ear.

“What's going on?” he asked, his lips brushing against Courfeyrac's ear just lightly. The Irish man turned his head slightly, not looking away from Azelma to murmur back.

“That's Ep's sister, from that piece of shit family of hers,” he said barely above a whisper. Jehan's mouth dropped slightly, and looked between the sisters.

“But I thought Ep's last name was Thénardier?”

“The family changed their name to avoid trouble with the law, it was after Eponine decided to leave with her brother.”

“Why didn't her sister go with them?”

“She chose to stay.”

“Do you know all the words?” Enjolras asked over the hushed conversation. Eponine answered instead.

“She knows.”

“Alright, then whenever you're ready,” Enjolras said as if familial drama weren't going on in his auditorium. Azelma nodded and took several deep breaths, and almost began singing once she looked up. She faltered when she saw a familiar face in the back, staring at her with an empty expression.

“Gavroche?” she asked, squinting her eyes at the blonde boy seated beside Grantaire. That earned Eponine's attention. The dark haired girl turned in her seat, looking for her brother's familiar face. When she found it, Gavroche was grinning. Eponine left her seat to walk back there for a hushed conversation.

“Anytime you're ready,” Enjolras repeated, his patience wearing thin. Azelma, who had been watching the pair of siblings in the back argue quietly, wrenched her eyes back to the front.

“Right, sorry,” she said. She had an accent much thicker than Eponine's, hardly distinguishable with the soft pitch in her voice.

Azelma took three deep calming breaths and lifted her head. This time, instead of looking at the people in the back, she focused on the wall and started to singing.

There was nothing memorable about her performance from the viewpoints of the others in the room, but for Eponine, who halted her conversation with her brother to listen, it was almost an apology, yet not enough. Though flat in some areas, and there were some note changes in the middle, it was okay. No one but Grantaire noticed the two siblings in the back holding each others hands.

When she was done, no one clapped, just like with Bahorel.

“Thank you, you may take your seat,” Enjolras said. When Azelma got off the stage, she looked at Eponine and Gavroche in the back. They stared back at her passively, and looked towards each other. Azelma took back her seat from before, her arms folded across her stomach as she folded in on herself.

“Right, well moving on. Next person!” Courfeyrac said loudly as he yanked the clipboard out of Enjolras' hand. After shouting out a bastardization of some poor girl's name, the process gets moving. There are a few fairly talented girls in the crowd, and none of the boys except for a curly haired guy from Enjolras' politics classes named Feuilly showed an ounce of promise. Marius was a talented singer but made a right fool of himself by singing a Rihanna song about finding love. Courfeyrac didn't stop laughing until after the next person had stopped singing. Finally the list came to an end, and Combeferre calls to the two boys in the back who aren't on the list.

“Which of you two is going to volunteer to go first?” he asked. He had stood up to face them, and could see that the duo had drawn more of a crowd to them. Eponine has returned back to her seat, presumably so that she wouldn't have to stare at the back of her sister's head.

“I will!” Gavroche yells, standing. Grantaire grins at the Freshman, who imitates Bahorel's earlier stunt by climbing over the seats. Though instead of using the armrests as stepping stones, he uses the backs of seats. Gavroche moved with a surprising amount of agility for being so skinny. His blonde hair was long, and messy. There were several rubber bands around his wrist, but none of them went toward his hair. One could only guess what he used them for.

“Gav, get off the stage! You can't sing!” Eponine shouted once her brother finally reached the stage. He promptly flipped her off.

“Stuff it 'Ponine,” he said making a face at her. She made one back, much to the amusement of her brother.

“If you can't sing, what are you doing here?” Enjolras asked with an air of heavy annoyance. He already had one waste of space sitting in the back, making a mockery out of the entire auditioning process, he didn't need another one out of Eponine's brother.

“Oh fuck off, Apollo! Gav, show them what you can do!” Grantaire yelled from the back. There were a few notes of encouragement from the others back there, but Grantaire had been the loudest. Enjolras clenched his right hand in a fist, resisting the urge to turn around and yell at the fucking lunatic that Jehan had been forced to live with. 

“Fine, introduce yourself,” Enjolras ground out, looking at the Freshman on stage. Gavroche grinned.

“Right, name's Gavroche Thénardier, I'm a gen-ed freshmen, like 'Zelma, I listen to whatever my sister listens to cause she controls the radio,” he said with a thick accent that was much stronger than either of his sisters.

“Do you know all the words to-”

“I don't sing. Can I just show you what I can do?” Gavroche interrupted. Combeferre was looking at his roommate, wondering if the man beside him was about to have a conniption. He answered the boy instead.

“Go ahead.”

Gavroche started moving his lips, never opening them too wide or loud enough for someone to sing. He didn't sing though, he was making noises with his mouth. Slowly, Gavroche's audience stared with open mouthed shock as he recreated different sounds with his mouth, even Eponine looked shocked by the way the boy was producing sounds. Only Grantaire and Bahorel in the back were grinning, each holding a sheet of paper in their hands that each had the number ten on them.

Once he was done, Gavroche didn't wait to be dismissed. He simply hopped down from the staged and took the same route back to his seat that he had traveled down. The blonde slaps a hand against Grantaire's who grins at him before standing.

“Guess it's my turn now,” he says loudly. He looks down the aisle both ways, seeing many different sized knees blocking his path in the narrow aisles. He's way too drunk to deal with that. Instead he climbs over one row of seats and walks down that aisle and heads to the stage. He pauses at the table, looking at them all. Enjolras doesn't look up at him, refuses to even acknowledge him despite the smell of alcohol that reeks off the art major. Grantaire doesn't acknowledge him either except for his eyes briefly passing over him.

“Prouvaire, you done with that?” Grantaire asks, nodding to the plastic cup on the table. Jehan looks up from his notebook in confusion before his light eyes focused on the purple cup that had been filled with apple juice at the start of the auditions. Jehan leaned forward and grabbed the cup, noting that it had just a slight amount of liquid left in it.

“There's still something in it, but I'm done,” he said, holding out the cup for his roommate. Grantaire takes the cup and drains it.

“Thanks,” he says before climbing the stage. He sits in the middle of the stage, right in front of where Enjolras is sitting to try and force the blonde to look at him.

“What's your name?” Enjolras asked as he finally met the blue eyes of the man on stage. Grantaire grinned.

“R Grantaire,” he says. There's a pause for a moment, everyone waiting for him to continue.

“Major?” Combeferre prompted before anyone can ask why his first name is a letter.

“Art.”

“What do you listen to?” Courfeyrac asked with a grin building on his face. Grantaire shrugged.

“Whatever people give me,” he answers with an air of pathetic apathy. Enjolras closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself against this idiocy.

“Sing _'You Know I'm No Good'_ by Amy Winehouse,” he told Grantaire. He knew that the brunette could sing it, had heard him sing it for himself, and was his fallback answer just in case Grantaire had pulled something like he just did.

“Can't.” Enjolras looked back up to Grantaire, who has this smug smirk on his face.

“Why?” he asked.

“Don't know it.” Enjolras narrowed his eyes at Grantaire, whose smirk grew wider at the annoyance of this angelic creature.

“ _'Mountain Sound'_ by Monsters and Men,” Enjolras said with a tone full of fury. Grantaire shrugs again.

“Don't know it.” Apollo was so close to flipping the table to call Grantaire out on his bullshit, he could feel it. He probably would have had Jehan not spoken up.

“Just sing that 'Cup' song and stop being difficult,” he said without looking up from his notebook. Grantaire's smirk widened into a full out grin, and Enjolras had to look away again, instead focusing on Jehan.

“You ruin my fun, J,” Grantaire laughs as he sets the cup on the ground upside down. He turned those impossibly blue eyes toward Enjolras again and started clapping out a beat with the cup.

_“I've got my ticket for the long way 'round_  
 _Two bottles of whiskey for the way_  
 _And I sure would like some sweet company_  
 _And I'm leaving tomorrow what-do-you say?_

Enjolras nearly stops breathing. Even when his voice isn't being amplified in a bathroom his voice is still addicting. There was the slightest slur of a southern accent in his voice, bringing his words together slightly that Enjolras hadn't noticed in Grantaire's normal voice.

_“When I'm gone, when I'm gone_  
 _You're gonna miss me when I'm gone_  
 _You're gonna miss me by my hair_  
 _You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh_  
 _You're gonna miss me when I'm gone_

Grantaire's hands move with a surprising amount of dexterity that Enjolras had been positive that a drunk should not have. Drunk or no, Enjolras knew several people that wouldn't have the amount of dexterity that this song required, disregarding the fact that Grantaire was also singing through it drunk.

_“I've got my ticket for the long way 'round_  
 _The one with the prettiest of views_  
 _It's got mountains, it's got rivers_  
 _It's got sights to give you shivers_  
 _But it sure would be prettier with you_

Though both would deny it later, or both of them would soberly deny it, Grantaire and Enjolras were staring at each other with an intensity that would rival a man staring at the face of his god. Well, they were until Grantaire had sung that last verse and tossed in a wink to Enjolras. Enjolras would later pass off the blush that rose to his face as the auditorium being warm, but Grantaire would remember it with the fondest of glee, and promptly tease his Apollo for it. That's later though.

_“When I'm gone, when I'm gone_  
 _You're gonna miss me when I'm gone_  
 _You're gonna miss me by my walk_  
 _You're gonna miss me by my talk, oh_  
 _You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.”_

Grantaire wrapped up the song the same way he started it, by slapping out the same beat he had continually been clapping throughout the song. When he was done Grantaire slid off the stage, set the cup on the table in front of Jehan, and walked out of the auditorium.

The auditorium was still for a moment before the mumbling took over, Courfeyrac had even taking to asking whispered questions to Jehan beside him. Jehan didn't look at all phased by his roommates actions, just mumbled out a quick 'bye' when the art major had set the cup back on the table. Enjolras sat still for a moment, staring at the spot Grantaire had been sitting in on stage.

Enjolras closed his eyes, to try and rid his sight of the echo of Grantaire's form on stage, but when he did he could see that brilliant shade of blue. Enjolras opened his eyes again and stood, facing the audience and gaining their attention with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Is there anyone else left who wants to audition?” he asked, searching the crowd. Each face in the crowd looked familiar to him, having stood on the stage and sang a rendition of a song for the rest.

“If that's it, you can all go. We'll contact you sometime in the next we-”

“Wait!” The auditioning students paused where they were, having already started to rise when Enjolras said they were free to go. A young blonde woman ran down the aisle toward the front of the auditorium, looking remarkably overdressed for the auditioning process. In the middle of the seats, Marius fell over in shock at the sight of the woman. The others around him looked mildly shocked at his dramatic reaction, but none bothered to help him up.

“Please wait,” she begged, breathless as she reached the front table.

“If you're here to audition then I'm afraid you have just missed them,” Enjolras said, not at all apologetic.

“I know I'm late, but please let me audition! My father will only let me stay on campus if I join a club! My name is Cosette Valjean, I'm so sorry, I was helping my old roommate move buildings and I didn't notice the time, I know it's no excuse but I got lost! I only just managed to get here because someone pointed me in the right direction!” Cosette begged as she slowly regained her breath.

Courfeyrac nudged Enjolras in the leg with his knee, giving the man a look when he looked down, motioning back with his head towards his roommate. Enjolras rolled his eyes when he looked back, seeing Marius frantically nodding his head with his puppy eyes focused on Cosette. When he looked back, Enjolras noticed that Cosette had found Marius in the crowd, and a pink flush had settled on her face as she smiled slightly, looking away.

“Fine, get on stage. Everyone sit down, we have one more audition,” Enjolras said to the crowd of still standing students. Their was a collective groan from the crowd as the settled back into their seats, except for Marius who started clapping until Eponine threw her book at the boy's head. Cosette's blush grew at the clapping, and even more when she turned to try and find a way on stage.

“Just go through that door over there and try to head as left as possible until you find the stage. If you see a stuffed tiger, turn around and try again,” Combeferre offered kindly. Cosette arched a blonde eyebrow at the obscure instructions, but proceeded to head through the door. Courfeyrac turned around in his seat to face his roommate.

“Pontmercy you little shit,” he said, grinning deviously at his roommate. Marius tore his eyes away from the door to look at Courfeyrac, confusion flooding his face.

“What?” he asked.

“When you said she was an angel, you didn't say you meant Professor Valjean's angel!” he said. Marius paled slightly before a brilliant red flush filled his face and neck. Cosette found her way out from backstage, frowning behind her at the obvious mess back there.

“What do I do now?” she asked, looking out at the crowd before her eyes found Marius. She smiled again, and he smiled back. Enjolras cleared his throat.

“First you introduce yourself, state your major, then tell us what kind of music you listen to mostly. Then you'll tell us what song you want to sing, you'll sing it, and then in the next week someone will be in contact with you about if you made the Girls Choir or not,” Enjolras listed off. He was beyond done with this day already, and did not want to have to try and pick out a song for this girl.

“Oh, well my name is Cosette Valjean, I'm an English major with a minor in religious studies, and I mostly listen to movie soundtracks,” she listed off, never taking her eyes away from Marius.

“Well Cosette, anytime you're ready to start singing then,” Combeferre said kindly, as he was afraid that Enjolras might pop that vein that was throbbing in his forehead. It wasn't anything Cosette had done, it was just a compilation of the entire day, starting with when Enjolras heard Grantaire calling him Apollo.

Cosette nodded and took a few deep breaths before opening her mouth to sing. She sang a song about prayer, from a movie that Enjolras had only seen once, _O Brother, Where Art Thou_.

She had a beautiful voice, clear and sweet, it was also strong, as if she could carry more weight with it. Enjolras looked over to Musichetta and Eponine, to gauge their reactions to her. She would join, according to Musichetta's delighted grin. Eponine's face though, was hurt. Enjolras frowned at the girl's sadness, and turned back to Cosette as he reigned his expression in.

Upon finishing the song, Cosette looked down at Enjolras, biting her lip.

“Now what do I do?” she asked innocently.

“Now you come down here and sign in on the clipboard, putting down your information. Then within the week one of the girls will contact you to inform you whether or not you passed auditions,” Combeferre told her with a gentle smile. Cosette's smile was nearly blinding.

“Thank you!” she said happily. She turned around for a moment, staring backstage at the mess for a moment before turning back to Combeferre. “Um, do I go back the way I came?”

“If you weren't in a dress I would suggest that you could hop off the stage,” Combeferre offers, nodding to her attire. Cosette looks down, then at the edge of the stage, then back.

“I think I'm going to take my chances with flashing everyone,” she says, stepping forward. Marius gets up, heading towards the stage as if to help her. Cosette fists a handful of her skirt's material in her hand to try and prevent the extra material from flying up. She kicks off her shoes, leaving them at the edge of the stage. She jumps down with ease before Marius can even leave his row of seats, landing primly on her feet. She smoothed her skirt back down, and retrieved her shoes from the stage.

“Now what do I need to fill out?” she asked, turning back to Combeferre. He handed her the clipboard with a smile on his face, and she smiled back when she took it.

“Alright, now all you lazy sods can leave!” Courfeyrac yelled at the rest. The result was instantaneous, and all of the auditioning students save for Gavroche, Azelma, Marius, and Cosette fled the auditorium. Gavroche went to Eponine's side, and watched as Azelma tried to approach them. Eponine murmured something in her brother's ear, he seemed to complain, but a pinch to his side stopped him, and he begrudgingly approached his other sister. The two walked out together with a large amount of space between them.

Eponine, Musichetta, and the last girl from their group approached the ABC's at the front, where they were watching Marius awkwardly flirt with Cosette. Thankfully for him, she found him cute, and was laughing at everything he said genuinely. Combeferre handed the clipboard to Eponine, asking her to put Gavroche's information on it.

Musichetta craned her neck to look over Eponine's shoulder at the clipboard, trying to see what Enjolras or Combeferre had thought of the applicants. There were stars by a few of the girls names, but in all likelihood they would have to take all of them to be able to compete this year.

“Marius, why don't you take the lovely Miss Valjean out to the quad and talk to her about that party Courf was talking about earlier,” Joly said, interrupting the two potential lovebirds. Marius blushed heavily at that, and Cosette grinned.

“Okay, lead the way Marius,” she said, sliding her arm through his. She was really the one leading him, but there was a feeling that Marius would have followed Cosette to the end of the world. The boys fell back to sitting, most taking their usual seats. Musichetta took a seat upon Joly's lap, leaning against him as he carded a finger through her long hair. Courfeyrac and Eponine sat beside each other on the stage, and the last girl took Courfeyrac's seat between Enjolras and Jehan.

“Grantaire, Gavroche, Marius, Bahorel, and Feuilly,” Jehan said.

“No Grantaire.” Enjolras immediately bit down.

“Oh come off it, he's talented. Just because he challenges you doesn't mean you can just ban him from singing,” Musichetta chided, swatting at the blonde. Enjolras flushed.

“He does not challenge me. He irritates me. And he would be a bad influence on the ABC's,” Enjolras argued.

“How?” Combeferre asked.

“He's an alcoholic. What if he showed up to a competition drunk? He showed up for auditions reeking of alcohol,” Enjolras pointed out.

“He wouldn't do that,” Jehan promised. “He drank last night because he's had a rough week.”

“He was painting all week,” Enjolras said.

“It's not that easy to create art,” Jehan bristled, pouting as he looked up from his notebook. Enjolras lifted his hands as a sign of peace, not wanting to bring down the rarely seen wrath of Jehan Prouvaire upon him.

“He's a wild card, we can't have that during competitions,” Enjolras fought, switching to a different aspect of the argument.

“Or it could be just the thing to bring us to the top again,” Courfeyrac said from his perch. Once all eyes were on him, he continued.

“Remember last year at regionals and the other team that went right before us completely owned the competition. You said we were through, and that we could only go out there and try. We would have died had Bossuet not forgotten the lyrics to his solo and the song change.”

“It also threw us off and made the last song fail,” Enjolras said, but he knew where Courfeyrac was headed. Because of that last second change, the direction of the song completely lifted. It changed from it being a march to their defeat to a song where they had fun.

“We still won though, because the judges saw something that made us stand out. I think that Grantaire could make us stand out again,” Courfeyrac said, his grin nearly splitting his face. Beside him, Eponine scoffed.

“Whatever, I'm on Enjolras' side. Someone like him could seriously damaged the reputation of Leopold,” she said. She reached a bare foot out to touch the table in front of Enjolras. “Stay strong dude.”

“Hush Eponine. You just don't want to be defeated by us again,” Combeferre teased.

“Regardless, I still think that R could cause some serious damage if you let him.”

“Hang on, don't you know him? You said you slept with some grungy looking art major with an awesome tongue last week after the welcome back party the alpha taus were throwing,” Musichetta said. Combeferre blushed heavily, as did Enjolras beside him, though they had slightly differing reasons for the flush. Jehan wrinkled his nose.

“Things Jehan wishes he didn't know about Grantaire,” Courfeyrac mused with a teasing grin. Jehan shook his head.

“No, I already know about R's exploits, I just never really know who. Eponine, Grantaire has some lovely things to say about your thighs,” Jehan said, smiling to the dark haired girl. Eponine grinned wickedly.

“Good,” was all she said about it before Enjolras changed the subject.

“Jehan, if I allowed Grantaire to join us, would you be able to promise that he would never show up to a performance drunk?” he asked. Jehan stared at his leader, purity shining out of his hazel eyes in a way that others would believe to be unreal.

“Yes.” Enjolras exhaled slowly, it was looking like he would be outvoted.

“Fine, so we're all agreed? Grantaire passes?” There was a general affirmation from the males, and Enjolras turned back to Jehan.

“You can tell him that he made it-”

“Why don't you tell him, O Fearless Leader?” Courfeyrac asked. “He's coming to the party at mine and Marius' tonight, and you already promised you were coming. Why don't you tell him there?” Enjolras was going to take an ibprofen after this for the headache that had grown above his left eye throughout the day. He had promised to go to Courfeyrac's party tonight, he and Combeferre were going to head there after the philosophy major finished outlining three of his essays that were due next Friday.

“Fine,” Enjolras begrudgingly agreed.

“Great! Now I have to go see a man about a waterslide. Uh, whoever Prouvaire said for joining. Foowee was the one who sang the Polish National Anthem right? I like him, all five really. I'll see you all 'round tonight,” Courfeyrac says as he slides off the edge of the stage. He pats Eponine's leg twice and she follows him off the stage. She stops once by Musichetta to whisper in her ear before running after the Irish man with her book in hand.

“Well since you've all decided who you're keeping, give me the list so that we can make our decisions,” Musichetta said, reaching across Combeferre to snatch the clipboard from Enjolras' hands. Enjolras let's it go without complaint, knowing better than to try and fight against Musichetta.

“Fine, alright, all of you go and do whatever. We'll start calling on Monday if we don't see them beforehand,” the blonde said, pressing a hand against his forehead. He was so very done with this day, and all he wanted to do was go and finish his argument on the Spanish Inquisition. Something he had not mentioned to the others, fearing that Courfeyrac would go about shouting about how no one expects the Spanish Inquisition for the next month.

“You want me to wait for you?” Combeferre asked as he shouldered his messenger back. Enjolras was still seated, everyone around him having stood and prepared to leave. Enjolras shook his head.

“No thanks, I'll stay back and clean for a while,” Enjolras said.

“Need any help?” his roommate asked with mild curiousness. Enjolras shook his head again.

“No, go back and work on your paper. I won't be long.” Combeferre pursed his lips, but said nothing. He could tell when his leader needed to be left alone. Combeferre followed the others out, holding the door open for them as one by one they left Enjolras alone.

Enjolras sat in the silence for five minutes, just basking in the peace he had needed for the past two hours. When the five minutes was up, Enjolras stood and got to work.

He started with the table, removing the table top of any crumbs and spare scraps of paper from the boys. Once cleared, he turned the table on its side to collapse it and carried it backstage, setting it against the large map of France that had been abandoned there by the history department because of all the crude drawings on it made by upset History majors. Enjolras will neither confirm or deny that some of the scrawlings are in his handwriting.

It methodical, Enjolras clearing up the auditorium. He doesn't do it normally, usually Combeferre and Joly take care of it. On rare occasions, however, Enjolras takes over the cleaning and sends the others on. Usually on days such as this when he feels like prolonged contact with other people will turn out poorly.

Next Enjolras goes through the rows of seats, picking up spare things that are either trash or are personal belongings to the auditioning students. Amongst the things that Enjolras picks up are three paper fans made out of notebook paper, Eponine's shoes, Marius' philosophy book, and three rubber bands in various areas that give Enjolras a hint as to why Gavroche kept those rubber bands around his wrist. When Enjolras finally reaches the back row, there's mostly trash back there. It had become raucous back there with Grantaire, Bahorel, and Gavroche leading the charge of laughing and making crude comments about the system.

Amongst the trash, forgotten under the seat, was a sketchpad. Enjolras furrowed his brow upon discovering, then scowled when he saw an elaborate R decorating the corner of the sketchpad. Of course, Grantaire was an art major, he would have sketchpads to spare. Enjolras muttered out an expletive as he tucked the sketchpad underneath his arm, setting it on the stage with the other forgotten personal items.

In the five minutes between when Enjolras placed the sketchpad on the stage to when he finally finished throwing out all of the trash, all he could think about was just how good Grantaire actually was at art. He stood in front of the stage for a few seconds before grabbing the sketchpad.

He didn't have any reservations about looking through Grantaire's sketchpad, he was a stranger, a stranger who got on his nerves. However, he knew from experience to never look at someone's art, no matter the medium, before it was finished. There were a lot of things Jehan was sensitive about, and people looking at his poems before they were done was one of them. He paused just for a moment, remembering the way those brilliant blue eyes had looked when they first saw Enjolras. Then he remembered the stench of beer that hung in the air around Grantaire, and he flipped open the sketchpad.

The first drawing took his breath away.

It was a girl, teenage. She had dark hair and a wide grin, her eyes nearly as dark as her hair. She was drawn with love, even Enjolras could tell. A sister? A high school sweetheart? Enjolras flipped a few more pages, finding a few more people. One of them was Jehan.

It was different than any Jehan Enjolras had ever seen. This Jehan was sad, staring off at nothing as if he had forgotten where he was. The tips of his hair was darker, blending in with the dark sweater he wore. Enjolras flipped the page, and it was a different variation of the same image. Instead of Jehan staring off with a sad expression, he wore his normal smile, he looked like nothing at all could hurt him.

Enjolras closed the sketchpad, refusing to go any further. These pictures had grown intimate, too much for Enjolras' prying eyes. Enjolras would bring the sketchpad with him to the party, return it to him then. He would see the others eventually, and they could get their stuff back themselves.

It was a good thing that Enjolras did not continue looking through the sketchpad. If he had, he would have eventually seen the images Grantaire had outlined when no one was looking. Enjolras wold have seen his side profile making faces at Combeferre, frowning slightly, talking, smiling, little emotions that Grantaire had managed to capture on paper. It was a good thing that Enjolras did not continue looking through the sketchpad.


	3. cry little sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, this one's a bit (read: lot) shorter than the previous two. basically it's just dealing with family shit.
> 
> warnings: mentions of past abuse, hints of self-harm

Siblings often have a love hate relationship with one another. They fight, argue, and tease each other mercilessly, but if anyone else tries to hurt them then they will always stand up for their sibling. That's what everyone thinks anyway.

The Thénardier siblings were estranged at best. Even Eponine and Gavroche weren't as close because of their childhood. The back story for the trio of the remaining Thénardier siblings was a horror by itself, nevermind what was still going on with the younger female and the father back at home. Eponine and Gavroche were lucky to escape when they did. As soon as Eponine graduated middle school and her family told her that she and Azelma would no longer be attending school. Eponine got out, and took her little brother with her. Eponine wanted to take Azelma with her, she was her twin. Azelma refused to leave though, fearing they would be caught and the consequences would be worse.

So the two left alone, living off the streets for a year before they got arrested by the police. They were to return to their parents, had anyone actually gotten a hold of the Thénardier parents. No, their mother had been killed by the police and the father ran, taking Azelma with him and changing their last names.

Gavroche and Eponine were placed into foster care until Eponine turned eighteen, when she gained custody of her little brother. She was older than everyone she knew, mentally at least. She was raising her younger brother, going to school part time because she knew she would have a shit job if she didn't, and working the rest of the time. The only reason she joined the girl's choir was because Gavroche started bringing in cash. She didn't ask where he got it, just like he didn't ask her.

Now that both siblings were attending school at the minimum nine hour requirements for a full time student, living off campus together, they were happy. They were getting the education that would help them get a proper job, to be able to take care of each other. They were happy without the rest of their family, at least they were until Azelma found them.

Eponine patted Courfeyrac on the shoulder as she followed him out.

“I'll meet you at yours in an hour, yeah?” she told him. The two were neighbors in their apartment complex, having been friends since Courfeyrac moved in just before Freshman year.

“Have fun with your family reunion,” Courfeyrac said with a grim smile. She made a face at the Irish man and separated from him, headed out towards the quad where her brother and sister were seated at a picnic table. They sat across from each other, but neither were speaking. Gavroche's expression was angry, and confused. Eponine wanted to keep her brother away from their family, away from the abuse that tormented them for years.

Eponine approached them without word, but Azelma looked up as she neared. Taking the seat beside Gavroche, she stared at Azelma with the same expression she wore when Azelma first got on stage.

“You still with him?” Eponine asked. She wasn't going to put up fake pleasantries with her, not now. Azelma looked down shamefully.

“He's letting me go to school,” Azelma said.

“Why? To keep an eye on us? I thought that was Montparnasse's job.” Eponine had seen the dark haired man around campus, watching her and Gavroche. She never spoke with him though, but not for lack of trying. Every time she tried to approach him, he vanished in the crowd.

“To help with the family business. He wants me to keep the books for him. Montparnasse is going to keep watch over me too,” Azelma said.

“Why can't you just leave him? He doesn't love you, he never loved any of us. He just keeps you around so that you don't tell. That's why Montparnasse keeps watch over us, so that we don't squeal,” Eponine whispered harshly. Azelma folded her arms across her torso, and Gavroche could see the marks on her wrist. He nudged Eponine, nodding at Azelma's arms. Eponine's dark eyes zeroed in on the marks. Her frown deepened.

“I can't leave, Eponine. He's my family, the only family I've had since you left,” Azelma said.

“Don't try to blame us for you staying behind. We managed just fine without him! You could have been with us! With me and Gav! We could all be together right now but you are still fixated on a man who can barely even be called your father!” Eponine snarled. Azelma flinched at her sister's words.

“We're still your family, 'Zelma. We're just not his,” Gavroche said quietly.

“But he still keeps tabs on you, he knows that you made the Dean's List, Ep, and he knows that Gavroche knows how to avoid the cops-”

“He knows our skills, you mean,” Eponine interrupted. “He doesn't want us back because we're his kids, he wants us back because he sees our use now.” Azelma said nothing. Eponine continued.

“Is that why he allowed you to come to college? To convince us back? Or did he realize that you had no use other than your body and sent you to actually learn something,” Eponine hissed. Azelma kept quiet, holding herself together.

“You said we were still family, right?” she said after a while. She looked up at Gavroche through her hair. He nodded. “Are our brothers still family too?” A slap rung through the quad.

Azelma sat there , her head turned to the side as her cheek burned red.

Eponine was shaking, she was so furious at Azelma right now. She had no right to bring them up, no right to ever bring up their brothers. She had been trying to hurt them, hurt them like Eponine was hurting her.

“What brothers?” Gavroche asked with a small voice.

“The brothers Mom threw out because she didn't want them. You're too young to remember,” Azelma said in a quiet voice, she flinched when Eponine's arm twitched.

“Threw out? What does that mean?”

“You're too young to remember, Gav.” Was all Eponine said about the matter.

“But-”

“I'll explain later, Gav,” Eponine told him. She wound a free hand in his hair, carding her fingers through it. It caught every so often on a tangle.

“Why this school? Is dad in town? Are you living with him?” Eponine asked quietly.

“Because of Montparnasse. No, he's in Brooklyn, I'm living on campus,” Azelma said quietly.

“Good,” Eponine said. She stood, and Gavroche stood beside her.

“You're in, by the way. Practice starts the Monday after next,” Eponine said as an afterthought. It would be a good way to keep an eye on her sister, like she was sent here to. Without another word, the Thénardier siblings walked away, back towards their apartment.

Azelma sat there, pretending that she wasn't crying in the middle of the quad. She had fucked everything up again, and on more than one account to. Eponine had been right, their father did want her and Gavroche back under his control, to be part of the family business, if you could even call it a business. However, Azelma had also wanted to reconnect with her siblings too, but Eponine just kept talking, saying those awful words. She couldn't help but slip out that remark about their other brothers. Her father was going to be mad at her, there was no telling what Montparnasse would do. So she sat there, shaking and crying.

 

Across the campus a man stared at his phone in one hand, and propped a cigarette between his lips with the other. Eighteen missed phone calls since he last turned it on, and fifty three texts. Most of them were from the same person, but there was one every so often from Jehan asking where he was. Grantaire deleted all of the text messages and the hit the redial button on the top number in his missed calls.

“Where the hell have you been?” was the first thing he heard. Grantaire grinned, and cradled his phone against his ear as he removed his cigarette from between his lips.

“Hey 'Mena, how's it going?” he said as if he hadn't been avoiding his phone for the past week.

“How's it goin'? I'll tell you how it's goin', you stupid oaf! I've tried to get in touch with you for five days, do you know how worried I was?”

“Obsessively so, if my call history is anything to go by,” Grantaire inputted sarcastically.

“Shut up. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, that you got alcohol poisoning. _Again_.”

“Let it go, 'Mena. I'm fine. I'm doing better up here,” Grantaire tried to soothe.

“You'd be better here with me. Idiot.”

“Or maybe you'd be better here with me. I can't go back there,” Grantaire said quietly. He was tucked in a little alcove beside the art building, hidden away from everybody around him.

“I miss you,” 'Mena whispered over the phone, as if she were afraid to be heard. After all that yelling, now she was afraid of being caught.

“Miss you too.”

“Are you well enough to sing again?” she asked, hopeful. Grantaire hesitated.

“'Mena...”

“It's been so long. You said you were getting better,” she whined. If they were together, Grantaire would be wrapped up in a hug so tight that his ribs would probably crack.

“I started sketching again,” Grantaire allowed, giving his little sister that much. There was a pause on the line.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said with a grin. “Bought a new sketchpad and everything.”

“Are they real life or doodles?” she asked suspiciously.

“Real life,” Grantaire said honestly.

“R...”

“I'm doing well here, but I'm not better yet,” he told her in a hushed tone.

“Will you come visit me? For Thanksgiving or Christmas? What about my birthday?” 'Mena begged.

“I'll send you something for each, okay? I'll send it to my p.o. box there,” Grantaire reasoned.

“But-”

“I can't go back, Will.”

There was silence on the line. Both siblings were hurting, both each other and themselves with their words.

“They're sorry-”

“Don't lie. I know they're glad I'm gone,” Grantaire said harshly.

“It's not like that! It was all just a misunderstanding-”

“Was it a misunderstanding that our father told me to never come back? Or that mama refused to look at me? It ain't a misunderstanding, 'Mena,” Grantaire said, his accent slipping into his voice. He stopped to collect himself, and spoke again with an even tone and his accent almost gone.

“I still love you, Will, always,” he told her, and promptly hung up on his sister. He sat there for a minute, still and angry. He only snapped out of it when his cigarette burned down to his fingers. He held it tighter for a moment, watching his skin turn red and burn, and watched the cigarette crumble before dropping it on the ground, and stomping it out with his beat up converse. Grantaire turned his phone off again and shoved it in his bag. He retrieved his pack of cheap cigarettes and his lighter, lighting up another to actually enjoy instead of just letting it burn down.

His spot in the alcove was good at hiding him from sight of others, it was also good for watching others. He could see the others from the audition, going back to their rooms. He saw that blonde girl he directed walking arm in arm with that pathetic Pontmercy guy. They looked stupidly infatuated with each other.

He could see Gavroche walking with that girl who was apparently his sister. Not the one Grantaire hooked up with, but the new one, the one that caused such a shock. They sat at a picnic table in the quad, across from each other and by the looks of things, not talking. A few minutes later, Eponine walked out towards them.

Grantaire watched them, watched how they seemed to grow angry at their new sibling. Grantaire winced from where he sat when Eponine slapped the other girl. There were more words exchanged before Eponine and Gavroche walked off, headed off campus to their apartment. Grantaire noticed that Eponine was barefoot.

The other girl, Azelma, Grantaire remembered, sat there for a long time. She was shaking, probably crying. He didn't dare move towards her though. He just let her cry, let her get all that nastiness out. He had enough of his own family shit, he didn't need to try and take on theirs. So he sat there, finishing off his cigarette until he saw a now familiar head of blonde hair walk past, with Grantaire's sketchpad tucked under his arm.

Grantaire didn't call out to him, just stared for a moment as Enjolras walked away without even noticing that Grantaire was there. He wished he had his camera, or he had his sketchpad back, he would love to keep the image of Apollo walking away. Especially in those ridiculously tight jeans. Grantaire was sure the only way he would like those jeans more was if they were the only thing Enjolras was wearing and he was walking towards Grantaire. Grantaire smirked around his cigarette at the mental image.

Should he have been worried about the angel finding the sketches of himself in Grantaire's sketchpad? Probably. He didn't worry himself too much though, let the Apollo see how mortals worship him. Let him see the pathetic offerings one has for being inspired by his mere presence.

Grantaire dropped the small remainder of his cigarette on the ground, stomping on it softly to grind it into uselessness. He watched Enjolras walk away as he stood, his eyes dropping a little lower than the Angel's back. He stood there until Enjolras was out of sight, and turned the other way to head into the art building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be at coufeyrac's party. there will be drinking, fun, and shit will go down. and hopefully it will be a lot longer than this chapter.


	4. it's about time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> party preparations can be chaotic. 
> 
> or, the one where jehan is a painter, grantaire and eponine are compared to demon's, and i am in love with musichetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i'm so sorry this is so late. i was sick for like two weeks and then midterms are this week. it has been so stressful, i can only apologize more for the inconvenience. i'm so sorry. on the plus side, an extra 2000 words on this chapter, and the party has been split into two chapters. well, preparty then party.
> 
> it's going to be ridiculous. i'm sorry. again.

Parties and the Courfeyrac/Pontmercy apartment were always the talk of the campus. Because they were off campus, no one ever got in trouble because the landlord at the complex was a lazy sod who was never there. That and the fact that everyone who lived in the complex stopped by to attend the party.

While the residents of the complex were free to come and go from the party, those who lived on campus found it much harder to get an invitation from the elusive Courfeyrac. Automatically the a capella groups were invited, and Courfeyrac's theatre friends, after that it was really just a matter of who you knew.

Take Cosette for instance. The beautiful and petite blonde knew nothing of these parties prior to them being mentioned to her by Marius' friends, and then again later by Marius himself. She knew nothing about what these parties would entail, and would never have known had she not unknowingly captured the heart of this Pontmercy man. She earned her invitation through this hopelessly adorable man though, and didn't particularly care if the party was going to be an orgy or sock hop, because she was going with him.

Now look at Grantaire. Grantaire had met Eponine and Courfeyrac at a fraternity party the week before, having steadily made out with both of them at the same time before Eponine pulled him into the spare room which may or may not have been the fraternity president's room. Grantaire was fun to party with, and Courfeyrac happened to share a nature of mathematics class with the dude so he gained an invite.

That's pretty much how one attained an invite to one of the parties, impress Courfeyrac or happen to   
fall victim to Marius' forced awkward affections. Though perhaps in the case of Cosette, they weren't forced as much as welcomed and reciprocated.

Those who had previously attended the parties were always welcome back unless they were physically thrown out of one, and even then it was only if they were fighting with someone.

Another thing about Courfeyrac's parties were that if you saw him on a regular basis you absolutely had to attend his parties. Unless you had a disease or a dying family member, there was no possible way to get out of his parties without inciting his pathetic kicked puppy expression that followed you for weeks until you brought booze to the next party. That's how he usually got Enjolras and Combeferre to attend.

The night of this party in particular was one that would stay in the memories of others well after college. That night, seven people would get kissed, four people kissed someone, an unlikely friendship would be made, and a heart would be broken. And that's just the relationship affairs, nevermind the wild stunts that usually happened at Casa de Courfeyrac/Pontmercy.

The start of the evening begins with the first kiss.

Jehan placed a kiss against the corner of Courfeyrac's mouth as he walked in, Grantaire trailing behind him with a large paper bag and a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey Jehan, get what I asked for?” Courfeyrac said with a grin. Jehan lifted a bag of paints that glowed under black light. Courfeyrac's grin fell a little at the small bag.

“Grantaire has the cans, these are for decorating,” Jehan said with a roll of his eyes. His mouth wore a smile though, affectionate for the Irish man. Courfeyrac's grin returned at full blast as he turned his gaze on Grantaire, and Jehan walked off to look around the apartment. They were the first ones to arrive because of Courfeyrac's request.

“Mate I am liking you more and more,” he said. Grantaire smirked, and handed off the paints.

“That's a tad worrying seeing how I met you last week,” Grantaire said with a wild grin. Courfeyrac laughed and set the paints on the counter.

“Get drunk enough and we'll see where the night ends,” Courfeyrac flirted goodnaturedly.

“Marius not back yet?” Jehan asked as he returned.

“I saw him walking around the quad with a pretty blonde with a stupid expression on his face earlier,” Grantaire said as he fell onto the couch. Jehan took a seat beside him, sitting on his feet facing Grantaire as he dug around in his sack of paints.

“That's him. So they were getting on alright?”

“She had an equally stupid expression, though on her it was much cuter,” Grantaire said.

“Awesome, now Eponine should be back soon, she went to go get booze with Gav,” Courfeyrac said. He paused, watching Jehan paint on Grantaire for a moment before continuing. “When Jehan finishes painting you, come out to the back and help me set up something yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire called as carefully as he could. Jehan was painting something on his chin, something with swirling designs all around his face. “Prouvaire, what the hell are you painting on me?”

“Hush, I'm inspired,” Jehan said. He painted one straight line vertically over Grantaire's lips, and got out another color.

“Am I going to look like a demon or something?”

“No,” Jehan allowed with an amused grin. “A fairy, maybe. Possibly an elf.”

“Long as I'm not a demon, would hate to scare off anyone,” Grantaire teased with a light grin.

“You couldn't scare anyone if you tried,” Jehan chided.

“You've never seen me paint, or become a blackout drunk,” Grantaire said softly.

“You couldn't scare me away if you tried,” Jehan murmured. He pressed his head against Grantaire's shoulder, his paintbrush left abandoned in his lap. “Maybe I'll be the one to scare you.”

“Not easily scared, Prouvaire,” Grantaire said. He leaned his cheek against the back of Jehan's head softly, wincing when the blonde hair stuck to his face.

“Careful!” Jehan said, pulling away to survey the damage to Grantaire's face. He wore a pout as he inspected, holding the underside of Grantaire's chin so that he could turn his head easily.

“You didn't do much damage, lost a swirl on your cheekbone though,” Jehan mused.

“Can you fix it?” Grantaire asked.

“No, but I can change it to something else. Hold still, I've been inspired again.”

 

About fifteen minutes later, Grantaire walked out with half his face painted and then his arm on the same side painted.

“Look at you braveheart, you look prepared for battle!” Courfeyrac laughed. Grantaire made a face at him.

“Are you even allowed to make Braveheart comments? I thought you were Irish,” Grantaire said as he walked into the back of the apartments. The apartments were set up in a square, almost. It was an empty square and the center of it served as a sort of park or off campus quad for the residents. Currently it was covered in a blue tarp being hammered into place by a brick wielded by Courfeyrac.

“Movie's a movie, and Ireland will always reign supreme,” Courfeyrac said with a happy grin.

“At least until the potatoes run out.” Courfeyrac feigned being shot in the heart.

“That hurts me emotionally, man. Grab a brick from the pile, there are pins on each corner of the tarp, can you hammer those two for me?” he said, motioning to the two corners farthest from him with his brick wielding hand.

“What the hell is this even for?” Grantaire asked, lifting a brick from the large pile of mismatched and mostly broken bricks in the corner. He tossed it in the air a couple times, getting the feel of it before picking up two more that seemed about the same size and weight.

“Paint dance floor. The land lord actually does care about the apartments to a certain degree, but out here should be fine. Oh for fuck's sake what the hell are you doin'?” What Grantaire was doing was juggling the three bricks, slowly and not very well, he had to stop every so often so that he didn't get hit in the head but he was doing alright for someone in a constant state of drunk.

“'ve got more dexterity when I'm drunk,” Grantaire grunts as he almost drops one on his foot.

“Well, test out that theory later, or else this party is going to end with someone tripping over the edge of the tarp an' taking out half the dance floor,” Courfeyrac said. He wore a grin on his face though, his eyes watching the slowly revolving bricks. Grantaire dropped two of the bricks, and narrowly avoided dropping the third on his face before going to the corners where Courfeyrac had pointed out.

“How you like living with Jehan?” Courfeyrac says after a while, beating the pin into the ground harshly. Grantaire looks up in surprise at the sudden aggression, but remembered the kiss Jehan had placed on the Irishman's cheek earlier.

“We get on alright, he's eccentric, and the artist in me appreciates that. He's a good friend, but he needs to learn how to stand up for himself,” Grantaire said honestly. He hit the pin into the ground one last time, leaving it practically buried in the tough soil.

“How so?” Courfeyrac asked. He stood to walk over to the next corner, Grantaire did the same, keeping opposite of him.

“He's too shy, let's people push him aside and knock him down. He's pretty fearsome when he's comfortable though,” Grantaire said. Courfeyrac watched Grantaire place the pin into the ground, smashing the brick down to secure it.

“You're a good roommate for him,” Courfeyrac said after a while. He looked down to secure his own pin.

“I think he's better for me,” Grantaire said in a subdued tone. 

“What?”

“I said, how's this going to work?” Grantaire asked louder, with a smirk pulling at his mouth. Courfeyrac grinned.

“Well I'm going to set up some blacklights, I told everyone to wear white slash wear old clothes because there will be paint everywhere. Eponine is setting up the sound system as well when she gets here. Normally we'd have Bossuet do it, but last time he did, he sort of went deaf in one ear for about a week,” Courfeyrac said, expression veiled. Grantaire frowned a bit, feeling dubious about helping set up now.

“Who's Bossuet?” Grantaire asked.

“That would be me,” a deep toned voice said from behind them. Grantaire looked up to find a large dark toned man walking down the stairs with two of the others from the auditions, Joly and Musichetta. The man was larger than both Joly and tiny Musichetta combined, with large muscles and a closely shaved head. He would have been intimidating if not for the large and brilliantly white smile decorating his face.

“You must be that Grantaire guy I've heard about, it's nice to meet y-” Bossuet never finished, his foot barely touched the second to last step and he slipped down, falling on his ass at the bottom of the stairs. Joly started fretting immediately while Musichetta laughed despite herself.

“Oh I'm sorry! Are you okay?” she asked, still laughing. Bossuet was still smiling as he let Joly help him up. The pre-med student was asking him questions in a subdued tone, staring at the larger man's foot as he tried to keep the weight off it.

“I'm fine, I'm fine Jole, my luck's not that bad,” Bossuet said, waving off Joly's fretful hands. Joly raised a dubious eyebrow, but stepped back to allow Bossuet to step onto the foot that slipped. Bossuet stood proudly on both feet, even lifted the other to just stand on the one Joly was worried that he had injured. “See, perfectly fine. Maybe tomorrow I'll sprain my wrist and you can fret then.” This caused Musichetta to laugh even more, she flitted down the stairs, and slipped her arm around Bossuet's torso.

“My lucky Bossuet,” she said affectionately. Her green eyes were looking up at him as she pressed herself against him in a hug. Bossuet squeezed her back gently and turned his head to look at Grantaire, who was watching them all with Courfeyrac with an amused grin.

“Sorry, I'm not the most graceful of people. My name's Laigle,” he said with a grin. Grantaire cocked his head to the side, his curls tumbling a bit in the move.

“I thought your name was Bossuet,” Grantaire said with an amused look on his face.

“Metaphorically, yes. Legally my name is Lesgle,” he said.

“Wait, is it Laigle or Lesgle?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said. “Have you three seen Jehan yet? He wants to paint us.” Musichetta brightened at that.

“Not yet, he inside?” she asked.

“What about ink poisoning?” Joly asked.

“It's paint, for people painting. It's all safe as long as you don't ingest it by the spoonful,” Courfeyrac said with a roll of his eyes. “He should still be inside, he did up Grantaire all nice and pretty.” He sweeps an arm dramatically over Grantaire's left side which was faintly yellow and orange.

“Prouvaire swears it will look better under the blacklight,” Grantaire shrugs.

“Dude, it looks badass now,” Muschetta said as she pulled herself from Bossuet's arms. She flitted to Grantaire like a little bird, looking at the designs that decorated his arm. Grantaire noticed she had a slight accent in her voice, but he couldn't place it. He did know that it wasn't American though, the lilting sounds were too exotic.

Musichetta stepped back a second as her boys joined her, smiling up at Grantaire.

“My name's Musichetta, I'm the leader of the girl's group, this is Joly and Bossuet. Do I call you R or Grantaire?” she asked.

“Either, I generally go by Grantaire,” he said with a shrug.

“Was that your camera I saw on the couch upstairs?” Musichetta asked. Grantaire nodded and Musichetta grinned widely.

“Awesome, while Joly and Bossuet help Courfeyrac set up, you're going to tell me all about your picture process while Jehan paints me,” Musichetta said as she grabbed Grantaire's hand. She waved to her boys as she led the slightly drunk man up the stairs.

Musichetta was a tiny thing, barely clearing five feet with short pixie cut that was spiked in a sort of mohawk. She was tiny, and cute like a little bird. Grantaire wondered idly what nationality she was, her slanting green eyes gave him question, as did her darker skin tone that didn't quite match anyone he knew. She was fairer than Bossuet, and darker than Joly. Though to be fair it seemed like everyone was more tanned than Joly, even fair Jehan and Grantaire who hid inside for weeks on end when working on a project looked tan by comparison to the pre med student.

Musichetta was one of a kind, a force to be reckoned with, and a queen in her own right. She loved two men who loved her and each other, and she was fiercely passionate and loyal to them. A tiny little English major who would spend much of her time behind a book if it weren't for her being friends with all these party goers. A tiny whimsical creature that sometimes Joly swore might be fictitious if it weren't for the light scratching of her nails on his scalp whenever she was pressed against him. She looked as if she might have a very high pitched voice, able to reach the highest notes without struggle. In actuality her voice was very strong, an even pitching that carried to the quietest corners of the largest arenas.

Musichetta lead Grantaire back to Courfeyrac's apartment, where Jehan was exiting the bathroom with his paints, a large amount of swirls decorating the top half of his face.

“Psychedelic, Provaire,” Grantaire said with a tone of approval after falling onto the couch where he'd been sitting earlier. Musichetta took the spot on the opposite side of the couch, allowing Jehan to sit between them.

“Wait until the lights hit it,” Jehan said with a small smile. He curled around Musichetta in a way, cradling the paints between them.

“Hello little bird,” he said to the small girl next to him.

“Hullo Sunshine,” she said back with a smile. She loved Jehan as dearly as she loved her Joly and her Bossuet, but Jehan wasn't meant to be hers so she loves him differently. She loved him as he loved her, as he loved everyone; ardently and beautifully.

When Jehan began painting her, Grantaire watched at first. He had never seen Jehan paint before, other than his own hair; it was different to see. Each stroke was carefully placed, almost lovingly placed. Grantaire started to remove his camera from it's padded cage almost without thinking. He snapped two pictures before Jehan actually noticed that Musichetta was smiling at him.

“How drunk are you?” he asked Grantaire.

“Not nearly enough to need this, I just wanted to capture the transformation for a possible project,” Grantaire said honestly. He snapped another picture, this time an extreme close-up of Jehan's bemused face.

“Sunshine, are you going to do this all night?” Musichetta asked with a still mouth while Jehan painted over them. Jehan hummed out a negative.

“Just for friends, if they want them,” he said softly.

“Wait, we had a choice?” Grantaire asked, amused. A grin was set on his face as he snapped three more pictures in a row, following the motions of Jehan painting delicate straight lines around and on Musichetta's small lips. Jehan laughed a little, not looking at his roommate.

“You didn't.”

“Rude,” Grantaire countered. He snapped a faraway shot of the process as Jehan switched colors. The shape around Musichetta's mouth was like a diamond, colored in mostly yellows with splashes of orange mixed in. It looked kind of like a beak.

“Someone remind me later to get a picture of all of Jehan's designs under a blacklight,” Grantaire said.

“Are you including yourself in this because I will gladly steal that beautiful camera from you to do it,” Musichetta said with closed eyes. Grantaire grinned and snapped a picture while Jehan painted a few swirls of purple around her brow bone.

“If you can pry it out of my drunken hands, be my guest. Just be sure to document my night if I wander off, I like to remember the wild nights.”

“Roger that, I'm sober so I will guard it with my life,” Musichetta said with a voice filled with glee. There was a smile on her face, and it looked dreamy when paired with her closed eyes. Again Grantaire snapped a picture.

“Does your camera run on film or is it digital?” Musichetta asked after a moment. She wondered because he was taking so many pictures, and was curious to see if he had enough film to even last the night if this was going to continue.

“Digital, most of the images go onto my laptop, but my favorites get developed.”

“And you take your camera with you drinking?” she asked.

“Only when I'm out partying and drink a lot. When I reach a certain limit I get blackout and can't remember. The camera helps me remember, or at least keeps me from doing something stupid because I bought that horrible thing on my own and I would probably cry if something happened to it,” Grantaire said honestly. He took another picture as Jehan finished the left side of her face and started the right side.

“You're either gonna be the most beautiful or the most terrifying when the lights go up,” he added on with a grin.

“Good,” Musichetta said with a mischievous grin.

Grantaire laughed loudly at that. He was starting to like this girl, who was starting to look more and more like Jehan's nickname for her than she already did.

Later that night as the party died down, Grantaire would snap a picture that he wouldn't remember until he loaded it onto his computer, a picture of a bird, a cat, and a fish all curled around each other on the couch; lovingly holding onto each other as they slept off their inebriation.

Bossuet came in a short time later as Jehan was putting finishing touches on Musichetta's face.

“You boys all done?” she asked, one green eye focused on the taller man.

“No, I dropped one of the lights and Joly sent me in before I could fall on it,” Bossuet said. He wore a sheepish grin, once more diminishing what should be a large and intimidating figure. He looked at Grantaire with a more polite smile.

“They asked me to ask you to bring the broom and dustpan down, as I am not trusted to either not hurt myself or make a bigger mess that hurts others,” he informed Grantaire.

“Oh my lucky Bossuet, come here and let Jehan paint you,” Musichetta said as soon as Jehan finished painting. She stood, allowing Bossuet to retake her seat, and got pulled into his lap. Grantaire returned his camera to it's comfortable confines and placed it behind Jehan for safekeeping.

“Where's the broom then?”

“At my apartment next door. Courfeyrac and I have joint custody for cleaning supplies,” a new voice entered the apartment. Grantaire turned to find Eponine and her brother walking in, each with a paper sack in their arms. Eponine motioned for Gavroche to set his bag on the counter and told him to fetch the broom and dustpan.

“Hey there, Braveheart,” Eponine said with a grin towards Grantaire.

“That's twice now I've been called that,” Grantaire informed her, joining her in the kitchen.

“Well are you Scottish?” she asked with a a raised eyebrow. Grantaire laughed.

“Hardly, French, hundred percent,” he said.

“Oh really? Can you speak it?”

“Ne vous comprends même?” he asked with a dubious eyebrow raised.

“Fuck, that's kind of hot,” Eponine said lowly. Grantaire grinned.

“Don't get used to it, I fucking hate speaking it,” he said with a laugh.

“Don't worry, I have my fantasies to keep me going. Besides, it's another thing to add to my perfect man, your tongue, with Courf's hair, Combeferre's body, Enjolras' mouth, Bossuet's hands, Jehan's butt-” Eponine is cut off by Jehan shouting out in embarrassment.

“It's cute, J,” Grantaire said with a wicked grin.

“The cutest,” Eponine agrees with an equally wicked grin. Jehan turned away from painting Bossuet's face, narrowing his hazel eyes at the two grinning lechers.

“I don't think I like you two being friends,” he said honestly. Grantaire and Eponine looked at each other for a moment, then back at Jehan, once more with identical grins that would put the Cheshire cat to shame.

“Good god, that's terrifying,” a new voice from the door said with a tone full of dread. Eponine and Grantaire once more turned their heads, dropping their grins for a curious expression, complete with identical eyebrow raises. They didn't even plan that out, obviously not having time to coordinate the identical looks. Combeferre is paused at the door, looking slightly tired and very much wary of the two in the kitchen.

“Hey 'Ferre, you seen Gav?” she asked.

“He just ran out the door carrying a broom and dustpan, muttering about 'oh god there's two of them' and went to the back with Enjolras,” he said.

“Ferre, Enj is French yeah?” she asked, sliding her bag of booze next to the other on the counter.

“His father's family, I think, yeah,” Combeferre said. “Why?”

“Grantaire's French too, I wanted to bug Enjy with the information,” Eponine said mischievously. Combeferre looked from Eponine to Grantaire, who smiled.

“I would have pegged you for Scottish,” was all the bespectacled man said. This earned a laugh from Eponine and a small chuckle from Grantaire.

“Three times now. I should just keep a tally, take a shot whenever someone calls me Scottish or Braveheart or any combination of the two,” Grantaire said goodnaturedly. Eponine's face lit up and she reached into one of the bags to pull out a bottle of tequila.

“I may join you with that, what are you on, three now?” Eponine says. She also pulls down two shot glasses from a cupboard. Combeferre groans, though there is an affectionate smile pulling at his lips towards the wild girl.

“There really is two of them,” he said, backing away.

“You love me Ferre,” Eponine called after him with a grin. Combeferre walked away shaking his head, a smile decorating his face. As Combeferre left them. Eponine poured out two shots for the both of them.

 

Enjolras had managed to effectively not break down and look through Grantaire's sketchpad even more. Although, truth be told it probably had something to do with the fact that Combeferre was in the room, and would have undoubtedly questioned why the politics major was looking at a sketchpad that didn't look to belong to any of their friends. Instead, Enjolras just stuck the pad between two books that Marius had wanted to borrow and walked with Combeferre to the apartment complex that their friends resided in.

Combeferre went in first, narrowly avoiding the thin younger brother of Eponine as he ran down the stairs with a broom in hand, muttering something. Gavroche looked at Enjolras, pausing once before his eyes flicked up to the apartment and heading towards the back. Enjolras looked up at the apartment before following Gavroche. If there was something to make Gavroche flee, he didn't particularly want to deal with it right now.

“Hey Enjolras!” Courfeyrac said with a large grin. He was crouched beside a pile of broken glass. One look towards Joly told him that Bossuet was here and more than likely had been sent upstairs with Musichetta before he could hurt himself. There was a tarp laid out over most of the common ground, and Enjolras didn't particularly want to know what it was for.

Gavroche handed the dustpan to Courfeyrac, and swept the broken glass into it without comment. Had anyone but Courfeyrac needed him to do that, the Freshman would have promptly yelled out any obscenity he could think of first and just sit off to the side watching with cold eyes. Anyone other than Courfeyrac.

“I think that's all of it, but I don't think anyone should be taking their shoes off tonight. That paint in an open would lead to bad results,” Joly said, grimacing at the prospect.

“Fine, yeah, hopefully no one will try and blame us for ruined shoes,” Courfeyrac said as he stood. He stepped around the remaining pile of glass, headed towards the giant dumpster in the back where the garbage men took the trash away. The more they talked the more Enjolras didn't want to participate in the party. He would probably spend a majority of the party upstairs in Courfeyrac and Marius' apartment, talking to whoever was sober enough to hold an intelligent conversation.

“Joly! Come up here!” Musichetta called from over the railing. The boys all looked up to find Musichetta's face and arms painted in a wild array of muted colors on her tan skin. Enjolras looked to Joly, to find him gaping in shock and amusement.

“Jollly! Jehan wants to make you into a cat!” Musichetta called with a large smile that took up most of her face. For someone so small, she did everything so largely.

“Is that what you are 'Chetta?” Joly called with an affectionate smile. Musichetta frowned, looking affronted by her love.

“I'm a bird, silly cat, and Bossuet is a little fishy,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And to Jehan and the little trio, it probably did make sense. To Enjolras however? Not so much.

“I'll be right up then, send Combeferre and Eponine down here, we need to get the sound set up,” Joly said.

“If I can pull her away from Grantaire. They're very similar as far as personalities go and I think Combeferre and Jehan are freaked out a little, well no, scratch that, Sunshine's amused, Combeferre is fucking terrified,” Musichetta said with a wicked grin. Courfeyrac stares up at the tiny woman as she whirled around to reenter the apartment with a perplexed expression which quickly morphs into a thinking one.

“Did anyone else feel a chill in the air? I feel like two demons have just made a contract,” he said thoughtfully. Enjolras frowned at the analogy, but said nothing. After the mention of Grantaire, he could feel the sketchpad in his hands start to burn against his palm. He would have to return it eventually, but he had fruitlessly hoped that it would come later rather than sooner.

However, no sooner had Eponine and Combeferre joined the rest of the outside, and Joly headed in, Grantaire walked out of the apartment and leaned on his arms against the wooden railing surrounding the walkway. Immediately blue eyes met blue eyes as Enjolras watched Grantaire take a drink from a bottle of beer, watched as Grantaire smiled around the lip of the bottle at him.

Enjolras headed for the stairs, ignoring the small bickering between Eponine and Courfeyrac about the placement of the sound system.

Grantaire was still watching him, though he had removed the bottle from his lips. He wore a different shirt than what he wore for auditions, this one less paint stained and covered by an unzipped army green hoodie, and there was now a maroon hat shoved over his head which flattened the curls before they burst out at the edges. There was a camera bag was slung over his shoulder, just like it had been the day that Enjolras had met the art major. Another difference in Grantaire was that now he was covered in paint on the left side of his body, and it seemed intentional this time.

“Apollo,” he said by way of greeting. Enjolras paused. He had heard Grantaire title him so during auditions, but now it felt much less like an insult and more like a title.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras greeted. He leaned his hip against the railing, looking down at Grantaire from a space away. He would have to get this over with sooner or later. Enjolras pulled the sketchpad from between the two books, handing it to Grantaire. Or, he tried to hand it to Grantaire.

Grantaire just looked down at the offered sketchpad, at Enjolras' hand holding it at the very edge, and traveled up until he met eyes with the angel.

“You didn't look through it,” he said finally. Enjolras frowned.

“I'm sorry, but I did. Only the first few pages. It was an invasion of your privacy and I apologize,” he said, holding the sketchpad out further for Grantaire to take. The artist laughed mirthlessly.

“You didn't really look then. You can you know, it's not exactly a big fucking secret that I draw,” Grantaire said. He was lying, but Enjolras didn't know that. When Grantaire made no move to take back the sketchpad, he just set it on the railing beside Grantaire.

“You're very talented,” he told the artist. Grantaire wasn't looking at him anymore, instead he was staring at the sight below him. Gavroche and Eponine were working with some wires while Combeferre and Courfeyrac moved around heavy equipment.

“Thanks,” Grantaire mumbled after a while. They awkwardly stood beside each other for a while, staring down at the sight below them.

“The girl on the first page is excellently done,” Enjolras pressed, trying. He wanted to get along with Grantaire, despite how aggravating he was and how he almost always seemed to to be drunk or reeking of alcohol. 

“She's done entirely from memory,” Grantaire said offhandedly. Enjolras tried not to let his eyes widen in surprise. From memory? Even Enjolras could see that the man was a talented artist, but drawing so many details from memory? That led Enjolras to believe that she was truly very close to the artist who drew her.

“She must be very important to you,” Enjolras said.

“She's the most important person in my life,” Grantaire said, finally looking at Enjolras, only to find that the politics major was staring right back at him. Enjolras didn't say anything in response, didn't get a chance to as Grantaire continued.

“She's also my baby sister,” he told Enjolras with a fond smile. Grantaire stood up from the railing, snatching the sketchpad from the ledge. Now that they were standing together, actually paying attention to each other, Enjolras could see that Grantaire was actually shorter than him. It wasn't by much, four inches at the most, but it left the darker haired man looking up to meet his eyes.

“You gonna let Jehan paint that pretty face of yours, Apollo?” he asked with a raised brow. Grantaire wished that he had his camera out so that he could capture the expression Enjolras made, because it was priceless.

Enjolras shook his head.

“I think I'm going to pass. I need to talk to you about something,” he said. Grantaire smirked.

“We're already talking.” Another camera moment as Enjolras rolled his eyes at Grantaire.

“About the ABC's. We decided that we wanted you to join us, practice starts the Monday after next,” Enjolras said.

“By next Monday do you mean this upcoming Monday, or the one after that?” Okay, Grantaire really needed to removed his camera from his bag if Enjolras was going to keep up with these expressions. He fidgeted with the zipper on his bag for a moment, slowly unzipping his bag so that Enjolras wouldn't notice.

“We meet the next Monday after the one in this upcoming week,” Enjolras said. “I also need a copy of your class schedule and any other club schedules.”

“That sounds truly awful. I'll have Jehan text it to you, I can't quite remember right now if afternoon class starts at one or three,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras didn't comment on that, only nodding in agreement, thinking it would be for the best under the assumption that Grantaire didn't actually have a phone and he wouldn't remember if the art major told him anything of importance. He would probably remember what classes they were, but numbers gave Enjolras trouble at times.

“What's your sister's name?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at the angel, wondering if he really cared or was just trying to make small talk.

“Wilhelmena, she's seventeen and a senior in high school,” he said, answering the next probably question for Apollo.

“Is she thinking of coming here for school?” Enjolras asked curiously. He didn't know what Grantaire's sister was like, but if she was anything like the drunken man, then Enjolras didn't particularly want her there. Grantaire shook his head.

“No, she's got a full ride to Julliard,” he explained. He pulled his camera up quickly to snap a picture of Enjolras with his eyes widened. Apollo blinked twice in confusion at Grantaire taking pictures of him, scowling when it clicked what he was doing, what he was still doing as he snapped more pictures of Enjolras' changing face.

“Would you stop that?” he asked, putting his hand in front of the lens to block it's view. Grantaire had a grin on his face, wild and amused at Enjolras' discomfort.

“How could I miss the opportunity to capture your essence on film, Apollo,” he said as his grin grew. Enjolras scowl deepened, growing annoyed at the shorter man. Grantaire took his hand off the shutter button, just supporting his camera with the other.

“Alright, alright, I'm done for now,” he said. Enjolras raised a blonde eyebrow, scowl firmly set in place.

“For now is all you get, Apollo. I feel that I cannot go too long without capturing your beautiful face,” he said, grinning impossibly wider. Enjolras rolled his eyes and put his hand down. Grantaire was proving to be exactly as he had imagined, not that he imagined Grantaire as anything other than a wild drinker with no respect. Grantaire didn't put the camera back up, but he also didn't take anymore pictures.

“Enjy! Come get your face painted!” Musichetta said as she appeared from seemingly nowhere. She actually just creeped out the door, standing in silence as she watched the two banter before interjecting. She didn't get between them, no, Musichetta came up beside Enjolras with a powerful hug, rocking him in the direction of Grantaire.

Though Enjolras considered himself to be mildly affectionate with his friends, used to having the likes of Jehan, Courfeyrac, and especially tiny Musichetta, actively spreading love to those around them in different ways. Enjolras was used to casual touches, both on the giving and receiving end. However, Enjolras was not friends with Grantaire, not yet anyway, and he was not comfortable enough to allow himself to careen into the dark haired man. So Enjolras slammed his hand down on the wooden railing to prevent himself from crashing into Grantaire, who also happened to be holding an expensive camera in his hand. The golden god succeeded in preventing himself from colliding with Grantaire, but instead managed to drive a splinter into the palm of his hand. Grantaire, however, had lifted a hand to try and catch Enjolras, wanting to touch what would likely be a toned torso on the angel. He returned his hand to his camera upon realizing that Enjolras' had caught himself.

“Fuck,” Enjolras ground out, gritting his teeth at the sudden stab in his palm. Musichetta removed herself from Enjolras quickly, a look of pure regret on her face.

“Fucking hell, I'm so sorry Enjolras, are you okay?” she asked. That was another thing about Musichetta, she always appeared so childlike and whimsical, but she did truly care and worry for her friends, especially the ones with a low tolerance for pain.

“Fine, just a splinter,” he said evenly. He curled his hand into a loose fist, not wanting to look at the source of his now throbbing palm.

“I'll go get Joly's tweezers,” Musichetta said. She quickly dashed inside, rushing to help her friend. Grantaire put his camera away, looking unfazed by Enjolras' being injured. No the one who was fazed was Enjolras when Grantaire's hand brushed his. Both men pulled their hands back, looking up at each other.

“Do you want to risk a piece of wood going into your bloodstream?” Grantaire asked with an amused expression.

“Musichetta's coming back with tweezers,” Enjolras said.

“Don't be a wimp, it'll be out before she comes back,” Grantaire said with a jovial grin. He held his hand out to Enjolras, his stained and calloused hand that has known many paintbrushes, charcoal pencils, and other things that may be revealed in time. His hand, so rough looking, outstretched in kindness towards Enjolras. The blonde stared at the hand offered to him, taking in it's details. Callouses on the palm and fingers, fingertips stained with nicotine, and what looked like either a tattoo or penmarks on his wrist, hidden beneath his hoodie sleeve.

Enjolras made a choice, and placed his hand in Grantaire's.

His hand was warm, Grantaire noticed as he turned Enjolras' hand in his, revealing the splinter. Grantaire was momentarily dazzled by Enjolras' hands, how long and elegant the fingers were, how smooth his palm was, he probably hadn't done a single hard day's work. Grantaire trailed his fingers over Enjolras' palm, delicately relishing in the fact that he was able to touch this ethereal being. The splinter was just slightly protruding from right under the index finger, right on the heartline.

Grantaire pulled the hand, and Enjolras, closer to him, closer to his face. Heat rose to Enjolras' face as he felt Grantaire's breath dance over his palm, though neither stopped focusing on each other. Grantaire gently pinched the flesh around this tiny little fragment who thought himself worthy to pierce the flesh of Apollo. Enjolras' breathing seemed to cease, and his hand seemed to tense.

He was trying not to shake, the feeling of Grantaire trailing his fingers on the sensitive flesh of Enjolras' palm. The throbbing feeling from the splinter had been overshadowed by this pleasant and almost unwelcome feeling.

Grantaire's other hand joined his other, trailing fingers across the skin between Enjolras' thumb and forefinger. His nails, bitten down to the quick and seeming hardly long enough to be able to pinch the tiny splinter that was just barely poking. Just barely did the ragged edges of Grantaire's nails scrape Enjolras' skin, just barely did his nails catch on the splinter, just barely did Enjolras feel a thing as Grantaire pulled the splinter from his skin.

Enjolras released the breath he had been holding when Grantaire pulled back, releasing Enjolras' palm from his grasp. 

“Done,” he said with an amused smirk. Grantaire brushed off his hands (trying to rid his hands of the warmth that this Apollo had bled into him) sending the small wood fragment off onto the ground where it wouldn't cause harm. Enjolras tried to thank Grantaire, having slowly regained his wits from the experience, but he was already headed inside, his sketchpad tucked under his arm and empty beer bottle in hand.

Musichetta came out seconds after Grantaire went in, grabbing Enjolras' hand as she poised Joly's tweezers for attack, only to find that there was no splinter.

“Did it go in?” she asked, taking a closer look at Enjolras palm, studying it. Enjolras ignored his friend for a moment, staring after Grantaire trying to piece together what had just happened.

What the hell was that.

 

Back on campus, what looks like a young couple are walking arm and arm together, talking to each other. Or, at least one of them was talking, and the other was trying not to say anything stupid or fall on his face in front of this perfect girl.

Cosette could feel how tense Marius was against her, and was trying to talk to get him to ease up. She really just ended up babbling about her father and his job and how much she really enjoyed taking his classes. She also talked about how she had gone to a Catholic school since she was in fifth grade, how she had lived off campus with her father last year, how she had a private room. Nothing seemed to get him to ease up though. It was fine though, perhaps he would loosen up at the party once he was surrounded by his friends.

Speaking of the party.

Cosette looked at the thin tweety bird watch on her wrist, noting the time. She had been going on and on about herself for nearly two ours, the sun was beginning to set!

“Marius you've let me talk for far too long,” Cosette said with a laugh. “You haven't told me anything about the party yet.” Marius' freckly complexion flushed, turning a charmingly pinkish red shade on his face and neck. Cosette wanted to try and bring that shade back to his face more.

“Sorry, I just really liked hearing you talk, you looked so passionate when you were speaking. It was cute,” he said apologetically. And if that wasn't the sweetest thing Cosette had heard. She bit her lip as she smiled, looking down at the grass they were walking on. She squeezed his arm in hers.

“You're sweet, now tell me, what time does this party even start?” she asked, looking at him. He was barely taller than she was, and she had a fairly tall frame. It made them seem as if they were closer together, as if they didn't have to go very far to connect to one another.

Marius mouth gaped open like a fish as his brain scrambled. He had only heard about the party a few hours ago, never mind details. Suddenly he felt a vibration in his pants pocket, and he excused himself to look at it.

Thank the Lord, it was Courfeyrac with four missed texts.

“Party starts at 9:30. Be here at least an hour earlier.”

“Make sure she wears white/old clothes. They will get messy.”

“Where's the broom?”

“For fuck's sake pontmercy, answer your damn phone and stop acting like an idiot.”

Marius relayed the first two messages, smartly saying nothing about the other two. Cosette grinned, and Marius swore that his heart skipped a beat.

“Great, come back with me to my room so I can get changed,” she says with a jolly tone. She either misses or completely ignores the flush that rises to Marius' face, the way he seems to grow even more tense. Either she missed it or ignored it, or she noticed and was reveling in the power she seemed to have gained over Marius.

Cosette may not have been as entirely innocent as her appearance led others to believe.

 

 

About an hour later, back at the apartments, everything was set up for a party. Jehan had gotten to nearly every one his painting, everyone except Enjolras. Even Combeferre had marks on his face, but that may have been because Eponine had smeared a paint covered hand across his face.

Currently she and Grantaire were standing behind the counter, leaning against it as they watched everyone. Enjolras could see what Courfeyrac had mentioned earlier. Two demons making a pact of chaos together. Though Eponine was serious in both her studies and in taking care of her younger brother, there was a certain wildness in Eponine that made her strong, that made her fierce.

Musichetta was seated in Joly's lap, talking animatedly with Courfeyrac as her hands held Bossuet's in her lap. She moved every so often to press a kiss to both Joly and Bossuet's mouth, seeming as if she couldn't go too long without giving physical affection to either of the men.

It was hard to see what Bossuet was painted as, and Grantaire would have no doubt that when he got under the lights he would see the brilliant fish designs Musichetta had been yelling about earlier. Joly only wanted a simple design, easier to scrub off later, and was now sporting a muted yellow and orange cat face, which was really just a dot for a nose and alternating colored whiskers.

Grantaire moved his head to murmur into Eponine's ear, questioning the nature of the trio sitting wrapped around each other.

“Joly and 'Chetta met in high school, sweethearts. Chetta's a year younger and Jole headed off to college before her, wear he roomed with Bossuet. They flirted for months before Musichetta came to visit and everything sort of clicked together. They're the most functional relationship I know,” Eponine whispered back behind the edge of a beer bottle. Grantaire wasn't sure what Eponine was painted as, all he really saw were dramatic lines around her eye's and cheekbones.

“Can't really imagine two without the other,” she continued quietly, smiling at her friends. Grantaire had the sudden feeling that he didn't belong. He had known Eponine and Courfeyrac for a week, partied with them, Gavroche he had met out in the quad one late night when Grantaire couldn't sleep. Save for Jehan, he had just met all of the others that day, and here he was with them, intruding. He didn't know any of them that well, having just latched onto Eponine when Jehan busied himself with others.

Grantaire took a long drink of his beer as the door opened, and the puppy faced couple from before walked in. Well, what he thought was the puppy faced couple. Marius was still the same, a bumbling adorable puppy who looked like he could really use a drink. Cosette, however. She had shed her frilly girlish attire for something more appropriate for a party involving paint. Old jean shorts that came reasonably down to her mid thigh, and what looked like an old oversized white button down shirt thrown over a tank top. Her hair was down and her smile was wide. Grantaire thought to himself, that if Marius didn't seal it with her soon, then someone else definitely would.

Eponine felt sick. She was gorgeous, this Cosette. Tall, with long legs and soft curves, pale skin that matched her fair hair. And Marius had spent all afternoon with her? He had never done that with Eponine, not without treating her like he treated Courfeyrac.

Cosette smiled shyly, keeping to Marius' side.

“Hello,” she said, not as shyly as her appearance led others to believe.

“Marius have you been boring this girl this entire time? I'm so sorry, Pontmercy has this terrible condition where he is extraordinarily awkward,” Courfeyrac said dramatically, approaching the young blonde.

Cosette smiled and allowed herself to be pulled from Marius side, who gaped at his friend's actions.

“I thought he was cute, though much too quiet,” she said, tossing a playful glance back to the Pontmercy man. Courfeyrac laughed loudly as he threw an arm over Cosette's shoulder, and his smile broadened as she slipped her arm around his middle.

“If there is one thing Pontmercy is, it's that he's much too adorable for his own good. Now if it's quietness that you dislike, then my love you have come to the right place,” Courfeyrac grinned, his Irish accent heavier than ever.

For the second time that night, there was a feeling of dread in the air as another friendship formed.


End file.
